


Tattoos and Teeth

by tesha198



Series: Dragon [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Dragon & Werewolf Hunters, Dragons, Frustrated Derek, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 42,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesha198/pseuds/tesha198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' power is progressing quickly. So quickly it threatens to consume him if he can't get it under control. Then, on a pack mission, Stiles get's roasted - literally - by a Dragon. He should be dead. Except he's not. What he is, is slightly charred and left with a massive tattoo spanning most of his body. A tattoo of a Dragon. A tattoo of a Dragon that comes to life and frankly doesn't like Derek very much at all. The result is a very pissed off Derek and a faction of hunters now bent on using Stiles for their cause or killing him. Can Stiles balance his growing power, a jealous Derek, and a group bent on claiming his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Much Focus

**Author's Note:**

> More to come soon!!

Stiles huffed, opening his right eye only a sliver in hopes of glimpsing whatever it was Deaton was concocting.

“Focus Stiles.” Deaton urged, not even turning to face him yet still somehow knowing Stiles had opened his eyes.

Stiles huffed again and slammed his eyes shut, frowning as he struggled to sit still. Part of Deaton’s tutelage was perfecting the art of meditation and, right at this moment, as he sat cross-legged on Deaton’s table, it was a part he could do without. Stiles had never been good at shutting anything down, not his mouth nor his flailing limbs and most certainly not his mind. The entire exercise was one in futility.

“How much longer?” Stiles groaned, resisting the urge to open his eyes again.

“Until I say so Stiles.” Deaton calmly replied.

Stiles’ frown deepened and his face scrunched into one of immense frustration, his brows knitting together despite his still closed eyes.

“Stiles.” Deaton voiced.

“I’m focusing.” Stiles bit back, scrunching his eyes closed even tighter.

“Stiles.” Deaton repeated.

“Doing my best here Doc.” Stiles ground out.

“ _Stiles_!” Deaton barked, and Stiles’ eyes flew open instantly.

The once barely flickering candles that were scattered throughout the room were now roaring infernos licking the ceiling in straight pillars of heat.

“Too much focus, Stiles.” Deaton sighed as Stiles quickly extinguished all the candles. “The point is to clear your mind, be at peace with your power, not fuel it until it burns you out.”

“I thought I was.” Stiles sighed, rubbing his face with his hands in hopes of ridding it of the frown he’d been sporting.

“You’ve progressed quickly with your magic.” Deaton admitted matter-of-factly. “Sometimes I worry too quickly. In a few short months you’ve surpassed the level most take decades to achieve.”

Stiles nodded, unable to prevent the pride that filled his chest.

“Still, without mastering the needed level of control your power is dangerous. It will consume you from within like a slow burning ember that starts a five alarm blaze.” Deaton seemed almost concerned as he said this, though his expression didn’t change from the mask he usually wore.

“I’m trying.” Stiles all but whined.

“I know, and that’s what worries me.” Deaton put the concoction he’d been mixing into a jar and stowed it away on a shelf. “We’re done for today.”

Stiles leapt to his feet, practically tripping over his own feet as he ran for the door.

“Stiles.” Deaton stopped him in his tracks. “Deliver this to Derek for me.”

He tossed Stiles a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper that made it infuriatingly unidentifiable.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, rolling it over in his hands.

“It’s for Derek.” Cryptic as usual, Deaton dismissed Stiles and vanished into a back room out of sight.

 

* * *

 

 

The Hale house was busy as usual, filled with pack members with nowhere else to go. After it had been rebuilt it quickly became the prime hangout for all the pack puppies, whether they lived there or not.

“How was your powwow with Dr. Dickweed?” Jackson called to Stiles as he approached, smirking at his own comment.

“Fine.” Stiles shrugged, not in the mood to sink to Jackson’s level. “Derek?”

Jackson just gestured inside with his thumb and went back to lying in the sun on the porch, quickly losing interest in Stiles without a reaction.

Stiles trudged through the front door and across the front sitting room where Erica and Boyd were sprawled across the couch watching TV. They both gestured to the kitchen in the same manner as Jackson without saying a word, clearly having heard Stiles’ question before he even entered the house.

Derek briefly glanced at him as he took a seat on a stool at the kitchen’s island.

“Something you need?” he huffed, going back to brewing his coffee with his back to Stiles.

“Something you need actually.” Stiles offered, tossing the small package onto the island. “From Deaton.”

That got Derek’s attention and he quickly turned around and scooped it up, stashing it away in his pants pocket before Stiles could ask any more questions.

“Thanks.” He nodded curtly, and then locked eyes with Stiles for the briefest of moments before retreating upstairs into his room.

Stiles sighed and ran his fingers through his now shaggy hair, expertly pushing his feelings of lust aside lest the wolves catch a whiff of it. Derek was exasperating to be around – the grumpiness, the reclusiveness, his pure molten eyes, and the shivers that always accompanied him curtsey of Stiles’ skin. Needless to say it was near impossible for Stiles to hide his feelings, thus why he’d begun avoiding the broody alpha of late.

Derek didn’t seem to notice or mind his absence – something Stiles was both thankful for and hurt by – and Stiles found it much easier to flirt with nameless guys at the jungle with Danny than own up to his actual feelings.

Even with pack business the most Stiles ever saw of Derek was the two seconds it took to get handed a walkie-talkie before the pack departed, leaving him and Lydia behind to do research. Stiles had becomes quite proficient with uncovering long forgotten underground lore, and staying behind made Derek less moody for some reason which just made life easier for everyone. Still, staying behind had everything to do with avoiding his feelings and absolutely nothing to do with pleasing the object of them – no matter what Lydia had to say about it.

“Leaving already?” Erica called as Stiles opened the front door.

“Places to go, people to see.” Stiles laughed, waving goodbye and quickly hopping into his jeep before any of the wolves decided he didn’t have a choice but to stay.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles pulled into his driveway and stepped out of his jeep, not even managing to unlock the front door before his father pulled in as well.

“You’re home early?” Stiles arched a brow, the statement really more of a question.

“Just picking up a file I forgot.” His father huffed, as if doing so was a monumental chore. “Everyone’s pulling overtime at the station. Three people have gone missing in the past week.” His father paused, looking at Stiles as if realizing something for the first time. “You haven’t… heard anything have you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes with a smirk, kicking his shoes off in the front hall before going in search of chips.

“Nope. Everything’s been pretty quiet, the pack’s been almost bored actually.” Stiles offered, never failing to find it amusing how after learning the truth his father still refused to ask him anything directly about the pack.

“Hm.” His father frowned, a mixture of relief and frustration on his face as he grabbed the file and turned to leave. “Let me know if that changes.”


	2. Fiery Captivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The web search for disappearances in Beacon Hills and any creatures that may be the cause proved to be useless as there was literally no information to go off of. Stiles groaned and exited the Internet, standing up and stretching before turning to face an oversized board with a map pinned to it. Lydia continued with her own web search beside him, sporadically insisting Derek do the research himself if he was unhappy with their results. Derek’s gruff voice would growl back through the walkie-talkie each time as a warning to watch her tone.

Since his conversation with his dad four days ago two more people had gone missing, at which point the pack took notice that someone was hunting people in their territory. Hence the pack was out canvasing the town while Stiles – the squishy, vulnerable human in Derek’s mind – was stuck at the Hale house desperately scrounging for any useful information. It’s not like he was a high-powered magic user or anything, why would that be helpful when out looking for a killer.

Stiles pressed the final pushpin into the map, signifying where each person had vanished, before lunging to grab the walkie-talkie from Lydia’s hands.

“Hey!” she hissed, flashing him a murderous glare.

He grimaced in response and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ before speaking so quickly into the walkie-talkie even he wasn’t sure what he’d said.

“English.” Derek growled, clearly not amused with Stiles’ word-vomit.

“I know where the killer is.” Stiles rushed, barely containing his enthusiasm over the first real lead they’d had in days.

“Where?” Derek huffed, and Stiles could practically hear his eyes rolling through the talkie.

“There’s a three block area where the victims all disappeared from, and right in the middle is the Beacon Hills Park.” Stiles explained, choosing to ignore the aforementioned eye-roll.

“So?” Derek huffed again. “There’s also a dozen stores and houses in between I’d guess.”

“Yeah, but according to the police report I… borrowed… victim four’s bag was found with a small branch caught in the zipper. Not too many trees in a store or house now are there.” Stiles sing-songed, resisting the urge to add ‘so ha!’ to the end of his explanation.

“Fine we’ll check it out.” Derek conceded, hanging up without so much as a ‘good job’.

Stiles frowned and grabbed his hoodie off the back of the computer chair he’d been stuck at all day.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lydia trilled, narrowing her eyes at him.

“…Out.” Stiles answered, flinching under the intensity of her glower. “Fine, I’m sick of sitting out the action, this is my lead and I’m going to go check it out.”

“Derek doesn’t want you out with the pack on missions.” Lydia threw back, her tone implying she really didn’t care all that much regardless.

“Derek also doesn’t want the sun to shine or the spring flowers to bloom.” Stiles huffed, ignoring Lydia’s arched brow at his over-exaggeration. “Doesn’t mean they wont.”

“Those disturbing analogies aside, if you get killed don’t expect me to resurrect you.” Lydia sighed, returning her attention to her computer screen. “Also that hoodie is horrible.”

“Love you too!” Stiles called as he ran out of the house and leapt into his jeep.

 

* * *

 

 

The park was pitch black as he pulled up, quickly cutting the engine so as not to be discovered. He knew the pack could probably smell or hear him regardless but he figured at least trying to remain hidden would up his chances of not being sent home.

He strolled through the park, hands in the oversized pockets of his hoodie as he glanced around for any sign of Derek or Scott or anyone else for that matter. His next step forward was met with a snap that echoed through the park as he accidently broke a twig and he cringed at his complete lack of stealth skills. Frozen in place he waited for one of the wolves to jump out and demand he return to the house. Instead a bloodcurdling scream cut through the night’s silence and sent Stiles rushing in the direction of Erica’s voice.

He burst through a hedge and into a secluded area of the park away from the playground and path. Erica lay on the ground in a large pool of blood clutching her side, which had apparently been gashed open quite severely. Stiles’ eyes widened and he ran to her, bending down and immediately filtering his power to speeding her healing. She looked both shocked and relieved to see him and didn’t question why he was there. Derek, on the other hand, didn’t seem pleased with his presence.

“Stiles!” Derek roared, dodging a swipe from the beast. “I told you to stay home!”

Stiles turned to glare at him but instead stared in shock at the large creature coiled around one of the oversized trees. It was a dragon – an honest to goodness dragon – that was currently making short work of slicing up the pack members.

Covered in scales that were reflecting the gentle moonlight in an almost translucent fashion, its back was erupting in long, threatening spines that made it impossible for the wolves to approach. Its long serpent like body was twined around the tree, its tail flicking across the ground to spear anyone who approached with its numerous spikes. Its talons were digging into the tree, scraping the bark off under the weight of its body. Derek was rushing and dodging it, desperately trying to find an opening as the creature snarled and bared its teeth at him, its horns and spines pointed at the furious wolf.

Behind it, Isaac crept forward, managing to get fairly close before the beast realized and spun to lash at him. Stiles panicked as Isaac was sent flying across the clearing, landing with a sickening crunch as his bones undoubtedly broke. The dragon snarled and uncoiled from the tree, rushing towards Isaac to finish the job.

Stiles quickly lunged forwards, throwing himself between the dragon and the cowering wolf and shouting, “STOP!”

The beast froze, eyeing him as if it were captivated. Stiles stared back, and what felt like an eternity passed between them before Derek’s voice broke the trans, screaming for Stiles to run. The dragon broke out of its trans as well, its large spiny wings unfolding from its body, and lifted above the clearing and directly over Stiles.

Derek bolted towards Stiles, as did the other wolves following their Alpha’s lead, growling and shouting. The beast opened its massive jaw and in an explosion of heat Stiles was consumed by its fire, the rest of the pack blown back by the force of its assault. Stiles thought he heard Derek roar and Scott cry before a blinding white light blurred his vision and he collapsed into darkness.


	3. Inked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon.

He couldn’t see. It wasn’t dark, in fact his eyes seemed like they were trapped in a room of pure light, he just couldn’t see. He had no clue where he was or how to leave.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Derek’s gruff voice demanded from somewhere in the distance.

“I don’t know.” Deaton replied.

Stiles heart sped up – were they talking about him? He felt incredibly hyperaware. He could hear everything, could feel the biting cold beneath his skin and the massive headache searing behind his eyes, but he couldn’t see and he couldn’t move.

“His heartbeat just spiked.” He heard Isaac timidly voice.

Everything fell quiet and Stiles found it extremely infuriating, as he had nothing to focus on, nothing to follow back to his consciousness.

“Stiles?” Scott whined.

“Come on Batman.” Erica sighed.

“Stiles.” Derek prodded, more of a demand than a question as if he expected Stiles to spring up at his request.

Stiles cringed, their talking only increasing his already massive headache, and suddenly he could move his face. Then his fingers. Then, finally, his entire body. He groaned and made to roll over only to find himself freefalling, which made his eyes finally shoot open to a world of smeared colors as he fell. Derek’s arms caught him just before he hit the floor and dumped him back on the table.

“Where am I?” Stiles groaned, glancing around to answer his own question before any of the wolves had a chance.

He was lying on Deaton’s metal operating table, which explained the biting cold he’d been feeling beneath him earlier.

“What happened? Where’s the dragon?” Stiles whispered, desperately trying to stop his head from pounding.

“What happened is you almost died!” Derek spat, eyeing Stiles as if unsure how he hadn’t.

“Yeah no offense Batman but maybe you should’ve picked a different mission to drop in on.” Erica piped in. “You look like shit.”

Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his face only to find it blackened with ash once he’d done so.

“So where is it?” Stiles pushed on, desperately trying to piece together what had happened in his mind.

“It disappeared.” Scott frowned, grabbing a cloth from a nearby basin of water and ringing it out. “We don’t know how.”

Scott marched over to him and before Stiles could protest, his friend was wiping away the black soot coating his face. The other wolves quickly followed suit, wiping down every piece of exposed skin, and frankly Stiles was too exhausted to fight them on it. Derek was the only one who watched from a distance, quietly discussing something Stiles couldn’t hear with Deaton while keeping a watchful eye on him.

After the cleaning turned to scenting Deaton shooed the wolves away and did a thorough inspection of Stiles’ injuries.

“He’s fine.” Deaton announced.

“Fine?” Derek bit, clearly disbelieving. “We watched him get cooked.”

“What can I say, he has a headache from hitting the ground when he passed out but other than that he has no burns, no blisters, nothing.” Deaton shrugged, eyeing Stiles curiously.

An eerie silence fell over the pack as all eyes turned to fixate on Stiles.

“I need a shower.” He blurted out, uncomfortable being the center of attention. “Not that you guys didn’t do a good job. But I still smell like smoke, and what I can only imagine is dragon breath. Not to mention my clothes now have holes all over the place from the fire and-“

“Stiles.” Derek barked, ending his rambling. “You’ll shower at my place, if your dad sees you now he’ll have a stroke.”

Stiles couldn’t really argue with that, his dad did his best to be accepting of the new supernatural world he was a part of, but showing up looking like he’d barely survived a five alarm fire would probably push him over the edge.

He nodded and allowed Derek to carry him out to his car; not even bothering to point out he wasn’t hurt or ask where his jeep was.

 

* * *

 

 

The second Derek’s car pulled up at the Hale house Stiles was once again surrounded by the entire pack. Apparently watching him supposedly burn to death had increased their protectiveness to an insane level. They all insisted on staying at Derek’s with him until they were sure he was safe.

Derek managed to get them to relax on the couch downstairs while he carried Stiles to his room to borrow the shower. Somewhere in his mind Stiles wondered why Derek was being so clingy, but was simply too exhausted to read into it. That and his presence had delayed the severe scolding from Lydia that undoubtedly awaited him downstairs.

Shooting him one last look, as if debating whether he should stay, Derek closed the bedroom door and joined the pack downstairs.

The warm water from the shower was the best thing Stiles had ever felt. The water that was filtering down the drain was black from the soot staining his body where the wolves hadn’t seen, but the relaxing of his muscles almost made him forget a mythological reptile had attacked him.

Lathering the bar of soap that smelled exactly like Derek and made his skin tingle at the prospect of sharing his scent, Stiles bent over to wash his legs. That’s when he saw it. Beginning at his right foot was a massive tattoo coiling up his leg and disappearing onto his back. Without thinking he shouted in shock, jumping out of the shower so fast he very nearly fell over. Wiping the steam off of the bathroom mirror he examined the skin of his reflection. From what he could see, the tattoo coiled up his right leg, onto his back and over his left shoulder. The tattoo was a dragon and its ferocious looking head was resting on his chest.

“Stiles!” Scott snarled, bursting through the bathroom door without warning beside Derek, the rest of the pack close behind them.

“Dude!” Stiles screeched, desperately grabbing the nearest towel and holding it over his very exposed junk.

Not fast enough unfortunately. Scott looked extremely uncomfortable, Erica looked impressed, most of the pack seemed unfazed, and Derek looked… mad? That couldn’t be lust so it had to be anger right?

“Ever hear of knocking?” Stiles demanded, wrapping his lower half in the towel so it stayed in place without holding it, then crossing his arms over his chest.

“You screamed.” Derek huffed.

“I did not.” Stiles frowned, offended. “I may have freaked out but I didn’t scream, I shouted. There’s a difference.”

“Tattoo.” Isaac suddenly blurted, pointing at the reptile winding across Stiles’ milky flesh.

As if no one else had noticed, suddenly every member of the pack was circling him much too close for his comfort given his present nudity.

“You didn’t have this this morning did you?” Erica asked.

“No.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure I would have noticed the giant dragon permanently engrained into my flesh.”

“Deaton.” Derek ordered, grabbing Stiles and dragging him out of the bathroom to see the vet.

“Pants!” Stiles blurted, stumbling as he was dragged across the house in a towel.


	4. Vicious Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving your comments!! They make me write so much faster! You guys and girls rock!!

Deaton didn’t seem at all surprised to see the pack back at his clinic so soon. He looked even less shocked to see Derek hauling a still damp Stiles in by the scruff of his shirt. Thankfully Stiles was dressed, but the track pants and old t-shirt he was borrowing from Derek swamped him in size.

“Problem?” Deaton asked, arching his brow at the group.

Immediately Derek lifted Stiles’ borrowed shirt to exposed his tattoo, prompting an involuntary screech from Stiles and a snicker from various pack members.

“Shut it.” Stiles grumbled, throwing a glare at Isaac, Erica and Jackson.

They simply shrugged at him as if to say not-our-fault-you’re-his-bitch.

“Fascinating.” Deaton drawled, moving closer to examine the detailed intricacy of the dragon tattoo. “When did this appear?”

“Oh you know, I felt like a change so I went for full body ink last week at the parlor.” Stiles frowned, past the point of holding his sarcasm in check.

“Funny.” Deaton raised his brow at Stiles.

“Well?” Derek demanded of Deaton.

“Well what?” Deaton amusedly returned. “I don’t know where it came from.”

Derek snarled, a deep rumble in his chest that sent shivers across Stiles’ skin and made him hyper aware of the fact the broody wolf was still gripping his collar.

“I’ll make some calls.” Deaton clarified, not fazed in the slightest by Derek’s behavior.

“Great so I can go home.” Stiles sighed in relief.

“No.” Most of the pack stated in unison, including Derek.

“You were attacked by a ferocious beast who’s been stealing people in the dead of night and now you have a perfect portrait of it covering most of your body.” Scott scoffed. “You really think we’re letting you out of our sight until we figure out why?”

“Well I was hoping.” Stiles mumbled under his breath.

“Well think again.” Erica snipped.

Curse werewolf hearing.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles shoved his hand into the popcorn bowl only to have it swatted away by an irate Lydia.

“Oh come on I gained a tattoo not two-hundred pounds.” Stiles whined, watching as she traipsed off with his snack.

She hadn’t screamed at him like he’d expected, but she had begun sabotaging all his snacking and general fun. Frankly he’d rather have had the screaming, at least then he wouldn’t be hungry.

“Come on Lydia! Please.” Stiles whined.

She simply huffed and dumped his popcorn into the trash with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Stop whining.” Derek grumbled from his seat on a nearby chair nursing a beer.

“Or what?” Stiles shot back, hungry, bored, and more than a little irritated. “Going to rip my throat out with your teeth?” Stiles snickered, tilting his head to give Derek a better view of his neck.

Derek’s eyes glowed red at the sight and he immediately slammed his beer onto the coffee table.

“Can’t you just listen for once in your life?” he bellowed, slamming his eyes shut as if to force them back to normal.

“Nope.” Stiles returned, popping the p at the end.

“Stiles.” Boyd whispered in a warning that fell on deaf ears.

“If you’d just done what you were told in the first place we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Derek snarled, opening his eyes still glowing alpha red.

“Except for the part where I saved Isaac.” Stiles threw back.

“Thanks.” Isaac meekly nodded to Stiles, only to be silenced by his alpha.

“And other than a mystery tattoo I really don’t see much of a problem.” Stiles continued.

“You distracted us in battle!” Derek roared, springing to his feet and hauling Stiles up to pin him against the nearest wall. “You showed up and gave the creature an opening to kill us. It almost killed _you_.”

“Ok you’re really close to my face now.” Stiles stated, covering his slight panic with his usual sarcasm.

“Dammit Stiles!” Derek snarled, frustrated with Stiles’ lack of concern for the consequences of his actions.

“You’re kind of hurting me now, sourwolf.” Stiles grimaced, trying to wriggle his wrists free from where Derek had them pinned against the wall.

Derek didn’t loosen his grip and Stiles winced again, trying to squirm free from Derek before his rage exploded more than it already had.

“Come on man, let go.” Stiles begged, nothing happened. “Derek. Let go. Derek!”

A flash of blinding light filled the room causing all the wolves to snarl and Derek to be flung back off of Stiles. When the light subsided a massive dragon was coiled around Stiles protectively, barring its teeth at a shocked Derek.

In seconds the pack were wolfed out and surrounding the creature, desperately trying to free Stiles from its embrace. The dragon, however, only seemed concerned with Derek, who with each step he tried to take up to the beast, came closer to being gutted. The betas all rushed it only to be thrown back and within the span of two minutes the wolves had been reduced to panting heaps on the floor, exhausted and full of scratches.

Stiles, reaching towards the beast despite Derek’s warnings not to move, lay a hand on its oversized head. The dragon relaxed almost immediately under his touch and Stiles smiled.

“His name is Kohl.” Stiles announced to the pack, who all stared at him as if he was crazy.

“How could you possibly know that?” Lydia demanded in disbelief.

“No clue, I just know.” Stiles shrugged, his smile widening as Kohl nuzzled him with his oversized head.

The act earned a vicious snarl from Derek, which in turn made Kohl’s spines prickle in anticipation of an attack.

“Would you calm down?” Stiles frowned at Derek. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

“Yes because the enormous deadly creature wrapped around your body is just giving you a hug.” Scott said disbelievingly.

“Protecting me actually.” Stiles chuckled. “From him.” Stiles gestured to Derek who growled in response.

“Why?” Derek rumbled, finally talking to Stiles instead of facing off with Kohl.

“You were hurting me.” Stiles shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious.

“Get rid of it.” Derek demanded, snarling once again at the dragon.

Kohl growled at Derek in response and Stiles sighed. It was becoming apparently clear that Kohl and Derek would not get along.

“I don’t think it works that way.” Stiles said, unsure because surprise surprise he’d never had a dragon protect him before.

“Deaton!” Derek shouted, as if the man could hear him and would magically appear. Although the shout was loud enough it was entirely possible.


	5. Research Required

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving your guys' comments, keep them coming! Also don't forget to follow my page for more stories!!

By the time Deaton arrived at Derek’s place everyone was in a state of chaos, the air thick with tension and pure rage exuding from Derek. Deaton took one step past the threshold of the front door and froze, staring at Stiles as if he were a hallucination before promptly recomposing himself.

“Fix it.” Derek growled at Deaton, provoking a growl from Kohl.

Stiles was seated on the sofa, absently scanning through channels on the television and seemingly unaffected by the fact a massive deadly reptile was wrapped around him. The dragon, Kohl, had its body twined around Stiles’, its head resting on Stiles’ lap, its body on the back of the sofa behind Stiles’ head and its tail flicking back and forth on the floor at Stiles’ feet.

At Kohl’s growl Stiles placed a hand atop the beast’s oversized head and began stroking it. Kohl nuzzled Stiles’ legs in response, a sound similar to a purr erupting from his chest.

“Stop.” Derek barked at Stiles immediately. “It’s a killer, not a kitten.”

Stiles sighed, dropping the converter exasperatedly and turning to frown at Derek.

“Care to explain?” Deaton cut in before a fight could break out.

Deaton’s mediation between Stiles and Derek seemed to ease some of the tension from the rest of pack, however they were still on edge given a giant beast had their friend in his possession.

“This is Kohl.” Stiles shrugged to Deaton as if everything was explained with those few words.

Deaton raised an eyebrow and silently waited for Stiles to continue.

“He’s a dragon.” Stiles added.

“No, I got that part.” Deaton sighed, shaking his head at his disciple. “I’m going to need a little more.”

It was Stiles’ turn to arch a brow, looking confused as to what exactly he was expected to say.

“Explain Stiles!” Derek growled, his already short patience disappearing altogether. “Explain why there is currently a dragon making itself comfortable on my couch!”

“He doesn’t want to disappear again because he doesn’t like Derek.” Stiles smirked, as if finding the whole situation infinitely amusing. “Although he never really disappeared. He just became me. Or rather a part of me. On my skin. He’s the tattoo everyone was worried about. So really everyone can stop freaking out now because he’s not going to hurt me. Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved, Stiles. Not. Solved.” Derek ground out, and Stiles could swear the sound of his teeth grinding together was audible.

“So this dragon – Kohl was it? – He must be the dragon from the park.” Deaton pondered aloud.

Stiles nodded, returning to flipping through the channels absentmindedly.

“Interesting.” Deaton exhaled, eyeing Kohl with fascination. “And how is he communicating exactly?”

Stiles banged the television remote against the sofa cushion, grumbling as it stopped on a fashion channel.

“Stiles.” Deaton sighed, clapping his hands and wishing his pupil had a longer attention span. “A little more focus.”

“Alright Doc, but if you burst into flames don’t blame me.” Stiles frowned, giving up on the remote and turning his full attention to Deaton.

“I’ll try to contain myself.” Deaton smiled, folding his hands in front of him. “Now how are you communicating with Kohl?”

“No clue. I can just sort of understand what he means. Like telepathy but less like a conversation and more like a feeling.” Stiles shrugged, stroking the top of Kohl’s head.

“A mental link, intriguing.” Deaton smiled, glancing between Stiles and the dragon he was petting. “And is your tattoo still there now?”

“Dun’no,” Stiles frowned, considering the question. “I haven’t checked.”

Deaton arched his brow and Stiles made an exasperated sigh, dragging himself up off the couch as if it were a chore. Ignoring the whistle from Erica, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head, holding the crumpled piece of fabric in his hand as he tried to see the tattoo on his back but wound up looking like a dog chasing his tail in circles.

“Stiles, stop before you fall over and break something.” Deaton sighed. “It’s not there.”

“Oh.” Stiles deadpanned, looking slightly disappointed.

“What’s that on your chest?” Lydia chimed in from her seat on a bar stool she’d dragged over from the kitchen.

Stiles glanced down, his face falling into an expression of confusion. Over his heart was a small circle, within which two dragons were intertwined with their noses touching a small circle between them.

“Great his tattoos change.” Derek grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. “He’s a human etch-a-sketch.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and Kohl growled while Deaton took out a small notepad and quickly sketched out the newfound tattoo.

“You know you can just snap a picture of it with a cellphone, right?” Stiles asked, desperately wanting to put his shirt back on.

Deaton said nothing, just continued sketching for a few more seconds in silence before stashing the notepad away again.

“I’ll do some research.” Deaton promised, heading for the door.

“That’s it?” Derek demanded irately. “Research?”

“If you want to tell a monstrous beast who most likely can’t be killed it’s not welcome, be my guest. But keep in mind my clinic is closed so any medical needs are out of my hands.” Deaton smiled mockingly at Derek before quickly excusing himself.

Stiles, finally having put his shirt back on, stretched and began heading for the front door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Derek demanded, barring the door and preventing Stiles’ escape.

“Oh come on, you heard him! He has to do research.” Stiles whined. “How long are you going to keep me here?”

“Until that thing is gone.” Derek returned, narrowing his eyes at Kohl.

“If this is you’re way of asking me to move in with you, you’re not as smooth as you think you are.” Stiles sighed, his eyes glinting with his sarcasm.

Derek said nothing, simply glowered at Stiles until he gave in and returned to the couch.

“If I’m living here you have to get a better cable package.” Stiles sighed overdramatically, returning to channel surfing and stroking Kohl’s head.


	6. Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon!

“It’s about time!” Derek snapped when he opened his front door to find Deaton standing on the porch.

“Problem?” Deaton arched a brow, his face never faltering from his calm mask but his voice flecked with amusement.

“He’s just grumpy because me and Kohl have bonded.” Stiles sing-songed from the couch. “Hey Doc!”

“No. I’m grumpy because I can’t walk around my own house without getting singed by your demented pet!” Derek barked, stomping after Deaton as he approached Stiles and Kohl.

“Hey if you cant take the heat…” Stiles drawled, trailing off before finishing the expression.

“Well, it’s only been two days but I’m glad you’ve managed to figure some things out on your own.” Deaton nodded as Kohl snorted flames in Derek’s direction.

“So. Glad.” Derek ground out, stomping out a small ember stuck in the carpet before it could ignite.

“What’s the word Doc?” Stiles asked, practically bouncing up and down on the couch with excitement.

“Well based on my research and some old contacts, it seems you’ve been chosen by Kohl as his companion.” Deaton began.

“Yeah we know.” Derek interceded. “Now how do we un-choose him?”

“We don’t.” Deaton stated matter-of-factly. “Short of killing Stiles there is no way to get rid of Kohl. They’re connected.”

“No.” Derek announced, as if Deaton’s explanation held no weight.

“No?” Deaton arched a brow. “Are you suggesting we kill Stiles?”

At that Kohl let out a vicious growl and Stiles an indignant ‘hey!’.

“I didn’t think so.” Deaton continued, satisfied with Derek’s silence and conflicted expression. “Kohl can become your tattoo at will, though high stress situations tend to force him back to his physical self as a defense mechanism so at least try to remain calm.”

“We’re doomed.” Derek muttered under his breath, barely audible.

“Though I’m still not sure why the tattoo over your heart appeared, I do know its history.” Deaton continued, choosing to ignore Derek if he’d heard him at all.

“Lay it on me.” Stiles nodded, listening attentively for once.

“There are several myths behind that particular image, however three resurfaced numerous times in my research and all identified the image as a dragon with a pearl. The first says the pearl is an egg the dragon carries until it hatches. The second says the pearl is the moon with which dragons become captivated and driven insane trying to steal. The last, and by far the most common, is that the pearl represents wisdom.” Deaton clarified.

“Let me get this straight.” Derek cut in irately. “Either this thing thinks Stiles is its child, is in love with him and wants to whisk him away, or thinks he’s infinitely wise. Is it on drugs?”

“Hey!” Stiles shouts. “I’m wise!”

Derek simply rolls his eyes and returns his focus to Deaton.

“So you’re telling me there’s nothing we can do?” he asks with a frown.

“Well Stiles needs to come with me for the weekend to train. He needs to master his connection to Kohl by Monday if he wants to continue going to school.” Deaton explains, looking to Stiles for his opinion.

“I’m guessing not going to school isn’t an option?” Stiles asks, glancing between Derek and Deaton who both stare back at him with stone-faced expressions. “Right. Didn’t think so.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles sat in economics, uncontrollably tapping his pencil against his desk with an annoying click that echoed through the room. Even with an entire weekend of training he’d only managed to scratch the surface of what Kohl could do and of how Kohl affected his own abilities. If he thought sitting through class was hard before it was near impossible now. He was hyperaware of Kohl twined around his body in the intricate tattoo and horribly distracted by thoughts of what he wanted to experiment with next – flying, how much fire he could take without injury, how quickly he could heal, there was just so much to work with!

“Stilinski!” Coach Finstock bellowed, drawing Stiles out of his thoughts and back to the lesson. “Whenever you’re done starting a one man band, how about you try answering the problem on the board!”

“Y-yes coach.” Stiles stumbled over both his words and feet in an attempt to get to the blackboard at the front of the class.

He grimaced as he read over the ridiculous problem scrawled on the board in Finstock’s messy writing. It’s clear that the question was well beyond anything the course had or would teach and was probably intended for Greenburg had Stiles not been caught daydreaming.

“We’re waiting.” Finstock urged, folding his arms as if waiting for Stiles to give up.

Without really considering how, he begins to write, his brain not fully comprehending what his hand is doing yet somehow understanding what he’s writing is correct. After a few minutes he sets the chalk down and silently returns to his seat, too bewildered by what just happened to make his usual sarcastic comment or haughty facial expression at the coach.

“Th-that’s right!” Finstock exclaimed, and Stiles could almost see the smoke billowing out of the man’s ears.

“I mean, you did ask me to answer it.” Stiles shrugged, finally finding his usual sarcasm.

“Yes, but how-“ Finstock began only to be cut off by the shrill ringing of the bell.

“See you at practice coach!” Stiles called, running full speed out of the room and towards the cafeteria.

 

* * *

 

 

“How in the hell did you do that?” Lydia demanded, roughly dropping her tray onto their table and sending her apple rolling away.

“Do what?” Stiles asked, slightly startled as he picks up the apple and dusts it off on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Don’t play dumb.” Lydia snipped, grabbing the apple from his hands. “You answered that question quicker than I could. How?”

“Have you ever considered I’m smarter than you give me credit?” Stiles asked, feigning innocence.

“No.” Lydia responded immediately, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

“Fine.” Stiles finally broke after a few moments of fidgeting under Lydia’s glare. “Kohl helped me. You know, the whole mental connection thing.” Stiles waved his fork around as if the sporadic gesture somehow explained the connection.

“Huh.” Lydia quipped, taking a bite of her apple as she mulled over the new information.

“I’ve been talking to him all day. I didn’t think it was possible to be more distracted than I already was.” Stiles sighed, torn between the coolness of the connection and the trouble it would undoubtedly cause.

“Well, good luck avoiding Finstock, I hear he’s looking for you.” Lydia shrugged, taking another bite of her apple. “Hopefully he wont hurt you too much at practice tonight.”


	7. Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Stiles was exhausted. He’d never hated lacrosse more in his entire life and that was saying something. Finstock had miraculously lost his sight every time someone went after Stiles illegally and he suspected as soon as he removed his pads he’d have large bruises and welts to show for it. He’d also had to juggle Kohl in his mind and Scott shouting warnings at him that made no sense. Apparently he could take on Kohl’s vision but in doing so his eyes actually became those of a dragon, something that had stopped Scott in his tracks on the field.

“Stiles! Your eyes! They’re…” he’d begun only to notice everyone was staring at him and he couldn’t finish his sentence. “...Beautiful…”

Everyone, including Stiles, had stared at him like he was insane for a full two minutes before coach angrily restarted the practice.

Compared to keeping himself and Kohl in check on the field and trying to avoid the coach, the locker room felt like a spa day filled with relaxation!

“What’s with the ink?” a voice bellowed across the locker-room.

_Never mind._

He wrenched his clean shirt out of his locker, cursing himself for forgetting to hide his tattoo and swearing when his shirt almost ripped as it caught on the locker door.

“How far down does it go?” “What is it?” “When’d you get it?”

The questions flew at him like projectile weapons and he winced with each one. He’d remembered to wear extremely high socks under his shorts at practice so why couldn’t he have remembered to change out of sight. Nearly every member of the team was circling him, pushing each other to get a better look despite him having already covered up the massive design.

“High stress.” He heard Scott cough, prompting him to take a much-needed calming breath in order to avoid Kohl springing forwards and incinerating his teammates.

“It’s no big deal.” Stiles cringed, hoping his forced nonchalance would make the team’s excitement fade.

“You didn’t have it last practice.” Greenburg pried, eyeing the tattoo suspiciously. “How’d you get it to heal over one weekend?”

“Shut up Greenburg.” Stiles bit harshly, slamming his locker and turning to glare at the irritating idiot.

“Stilinski!” Coach Finstock’s voice boomed through the locker-room, ending Stiles’ five minutes of fame and sending the team scattering to avoid their teacher.

“Yeah coach?” Stiles grimaced, shooting Scott a pleading look.

“You didn’t totally suck in practice today.” Finstock offered, almost a compliment if not for the disbelieving tone. “I feel the need to ask, what are you on?”

“Just… the natural high of life, coach.” Stiles replied, slightly taken aback yet still thick with sarcasm. “Gotta run.”

With that Stiles was out the door before Finstock could ask another question, an entirely ungraceful scrambling of long limbs that almost made him trip in his haste.

“Do I want to know?” Finstock frowned at Scott, watching Stiles stumble his way out of the locker-room.

“Probably not.” Scott shrugged, adjusting his backpack before following his friend out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re overreacting.” Scott chuckled amusedly from the passenger’s seat of Stiles’ jeep.

“Are you kidding?” Stiles groaned dramatically, glancing at Scott from the corner of his eye. “Short of me spontaneously catching fire in the middle of the lacrosse field, I don’t see how that could have gone worse.”

“No one saw your eyes on the field.” Scott dismissed with a shrug, absently scanning through stations on the car radio.

“No but people now think you have latent homosexual tendencies.” Stiles frowned, exasperated with his best friend’s composure. “Or Tourettes. Maybe both. Probably both.”

“No one thinks that.” Scott rolled his eyes with an amused smirk. “Besides, at least you found out you can adopt dragon sight.”

“And smell.” Stiles mumbled, coming to a brief stop at a stop sign before accelerating through the intersection.

“And smell?” Scott repeated, eyeing Stiles curiously.

“And smell.” Stiles reiterated with a nod, tapping the steering wheel as if it were a bongo.

“Nice.” Scott grinned, more than a little intrigued as to what else Stiles could do.

A natural silence settled over the jeep, filled with noiseless thought and broken only by the steady stream of music from the car stereo.

The jeep slowed as they approached another intersection and suddenly the silence was broken by a deafening bang that made Stiles yelp as the jeep veered off the road and hit a tree. Stiles swore, jamming the jeep into park as if there was a chance it would somehow continue through the large tree, before climbing out to inspect the damage.

“What was that?” Scott demanded, clearly on edge as he followed Stiles out of the vehicle.

“Damn it!” Stiles swore, flailing his arms in frustrated anger as he noted all four tires were flat and the engine was beginning to smoke.

“Got a spare?” Scott asked, glancing at Stiles doubtfully.

“Yes Scott I do.” Stiles replied, fixing his friend with a sarcastic frown. “Maybe we can mount it on the center of the undercarriage and drive it like a unicycle.”

“Seems unlikely.” Scott returned humorously.

“You think!” Stiles bellowed, flailing his arms once more in overwhelming frustration.

“Give us the boy and no one gets hurt.” A loud voice interjected threateningly, stopping their banter and immediately drawing their attention.

“Of course.” Stiles sighed, gesturing irately towards the large man pointing a gun at them. “Let me guess, hunter? Either that or you’re the most aggressive traffic cop I’ve ever met.”

“I assure you these aren’t radar guns.” A female voice spoke, firing her gun into the side of Stiles’ jeep. “Though you were speeding.”

“Hey!” Stiles shouted angrily, diving for his jeep as though he could somehow buff the bullet hole out of the side with his bare hands. “Watch the paint! And the rest of it!”

“Don’t make us say it again.” A third voice barked. “Give us the boy and no one gets hurt.”

“Technically you just did say it again.” Stiles replied sarcastically, glaring at the man with a mischievous smirk. “Besides, last time I checked we’re both males. I mean, unless there’s something you’re not telling me…?” Stiles arched a brow at Scott, ignoring the hunters altogether.

“Nope. Still male.” Scott nodded, leaning on the side of the jeep and glaring at the hunters.

“See.” Stiles shrugged, finally giving up on removing the bullet hole and opting to turn his undivided attention to the hunters. “You’re going to have to be more specific which ‘boy’ you want.”

“The one with the dragon.” One of the men snarled, pointing his gun directly at Stiles, clearly not amused by his sarcasm.


	8. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon.

Stiles could feel Kohl, an overpowering feral anger boiling inside him and seeping through to Stiles’ consciousness. The tattoo felt itchy, as though the creature were fidgeting on his skin, coiling and clawing at the hunters’ presence.

“Stop it.” Stiles whispered with a frown, earning a confused glance from Scott.

Kohl’s fidgeting seemed to calm at Stiles’ words but his anger only grew, making Stiles feel slightly more on edge than he was comfortable with.

“We have ways of making you talk.” The female hunter grinned wickedly, reaching into her back pocket to pull out a switchblade.

“Yes because if the three guns pointed at us weren’t enough to make us talk, a tiny knife is going to do the job.” Stiles rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“This is no ordinary knife.” The woman began, only to be silenced by Stiles’ banter once more.

“It’s an ancient Aztec knife that cuts out your organs from the inside of your body. No! One cut and your deepest secrets are revealed.” Stiles began reeling off possibilities, the frown on the woman’s face deepening with each word.

“Stiles.” Scott whispered under his breath, leaning towards his friend but keeping his eyes fixed on the hunters. “Maybe you should tone it down a bit.”

“Hold your tongue!” One of the male hunters demanded in a harsh snarl, narrowing his eyes at Stiles un-amusedly.

“I would but you do _not_ want to know where my hands have been.” Stiles shook his head, ignoring the warning from both Scott and the hunters.

By the time the words had left Stiles’ mouth one of the hunters had fired their gun, a loud, deafening shot that quickly silenced Stiles and sent Scott reeling backwards in pain.

“Damn it!” Scott roared, his eyes flashing gold as the bullet lodged in his shoulder, sending pain rippling through him as he staggered from the force of the impact.

In a flash Kohl was off Stiles’ skin and on the hunters, showering them in a spray of fire that had them running for cover.  Every so often one would pause in an attempt to shoot Kohl out of the sky, only to be face with the wrath of an angry dragon and all the teeth, spikes and fire that so accompanied.

“Don’t let them get away!” Stiles bellowed, taking off after the hunters in a sprint.

Kohl roared and swooped down, grabbing one of the men in his oversized claws and dropping back to the ground in front of Stiles, effectively trapping the hunter under his claws like a perilous cage.

“Uh, thanks.” Stiles nodded to Kohl, slightly taken aback at the dragon’s obedience.

Kohl snorted, steam erupting from his nostrils as if a satisfied acknowledgement of Stiles’ thanks. The hunter squirmed futilely under Kohl’s claws, panic clear on his face as he found himself unable to do anything but become coated in the dirt he was lying in.

“I guess we should take him to Deaton’s? Eh, Scott?” Stiles pondered aloud, turning to realize his friend hadn’t followed him in his short pursuit of the hunters.

“You suck.” Scott sighed, clutching his shoulder from his place leaning against Stiles’ jeep and wincing in pain as he spoke.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t have a dragon.” Derek fumed, narrowing his eyes at Stiles as Deaton removed the bullet from Scott’s shoulder.

“Actually Kohl was the one who saved us.” Stiles returned with a roll of his eyes, smirking as he felt Kohl rumble in agreement in his mind, having already returned to being Stiles’ tattoo.

“From hunters who wouldn’t have been after you if you weren’t involved with a supernatural beast!” Derek snarled, clearly exasperated with the entire situation.

“Says the werewolf.” Stiles chuckled, arching a brow at Derek who said nothing in response, simply flexed his jaw and exhaled deeply.

Scott yelped as Deaton finally pulled the bullet out with a pair of tweezers, dropping the metal pellet, stained crimson with blood, into a metal tray for later examination. With expert precision Deaton disinfected the wound and wrapped it in gauze, the injury already beginning to heal now that the bullet was free.

“Perhaps we could focus on the man gagged and tied to my chair?” Deaton requested, somehow sounding more like a threatening demand.

The man struggled against his binds as he realized attention was now focused on him, shaking his head as if to somehow dislodge the gag tied around his mouth.

“Dude. Where are you trying to go?” Stiles sighed, yanking the gag out of the man’s mouth.

The man glared up at him but said nothing, clearly having no desire to speak to any of his captors.

“Dude? Really?” Derek huffed, shaking his head at Stiles in disapproval.

“Who are you?” Deaton asked, eyeing the man suspiciously and overtaking the conversation before another argument could break out in the middle of an interrogation.

The man again, said nothing and Deaton sighed, folding his hands in front of him as he continued to speak.

“You’re a hunter, obviously.” Deaton nodded, eyeing him for a few more seconds before unfolding his hands to rummage through some of the mixtures he had on his shelves. “Clearly not Latin or Asian, but a prominent clan none the less. You’re interest in dragons makes me think you’re from a European clan of hunters, Greek perhaps. Though we’ll know more shortly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The hunter spoke after a few moments of hesitation, watching Deaton mix some herbs with weary eyes.

“I’ve become quite adept at herbology over the years.” Deaton answered, grinding up one of the herbs and pouring it into the mix he’d created. “In a few short moment’s you’ll be telling us all there is to know about your clan along with their intentions.”

“Wait.” The man spluttered, eyes widened in horror. “What… do you want to know?”

Deaton eyed the man for a few moments in silence, as if assessing whether or not to allow him to speak without the use of his mixture.

“Very well.” He finally conceded, abandoning his herbs and dusting his hands off as he eyed the hunter glancing around the room uncomfortably. “What do you want with a dragon?”

“We are an ancient faction of hunters, formed long ago when dragons first emerged in Greece. The beasts would terrorize towns, wiping entire villages off the face of the earth simply for fun.” The hunter spat his explanation as if even recalling an event involving a dragon was beneath him. “It is our mission to stop them.”

Kohl growled viciously in Stiles’ mind, the words igniting an anger within the beast that literally seemed to warm Stiles from within.

“Those may have been the intentions of the original faction but don’t pretend your group still holds the same values.” Deaton frowned, narrowing his eyes threateningly at the man.

“Your friend has merged with a beast.” The hunter spoke, ignoring Deaton’s comment in favor of locking eyes with Stiles. “You have attained a power not many outside our clan have controlled. Join us or die. Either way, they will come for you again. And you wont be so lucky as to escape us a second time.”


	9. Immediate Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“I can’t stay here forever.” Stiles groaned, his head lulling in an exaggerated circle as he did so. “There’s only so long we can be on a pack camping trip before my dad gets suspicious.”

“And having a giant lizard in his house wont make him suspicious?” Derek huffed back, his face setting into a hard expression as he watched Stiles lean back against Kohl in front of the fireplace.

The dragon rumbled, a content vibration from deep in his chest that washed over Stiles as he sat coiled in Kohl’s sleeping form.

“He’d adapt.” Stiles offered, a modicum of doubt under his assertion.

“We just found out that a faction of hunters is bent on controlling dragons or killing them when they fail. You’re their target and you think we’re letting you leave?” Lydia snapped, slamming her laptop closed and glaring at him with fiery intensity.

“I still can’t believe that hunter told us everything. Isn’t there some secret hunter-training program that teaches you to keep quiet?” Stiles frowned, dripping with sarcasm.

“Really?” Derek growled, dragging his hand down his face in exasperation. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Well that and the fact you still don’t have a decent cable package.” Stiles shrugged, scratching Kohl’s head behind his spines and smiling as Kohl nuzzled his head deeper into his lap.

“We need to protect you.” Derek sighed, tossing Lydia an old, worn map of the preserve. “Scott and Isaac are doing a perimeter sweep and we’ll take turns keeping watch until we can figure out how to get rid of the lizard.”

“Dragon.” Stiles corrected with a roll of his eyes, Kohl’s eyes snapping open as he lifted his gaze to Derek with a threatening growl. “And Deaton already told you he’s here to stay.”

“Deaton’s wrong.” Derek growled, brows knitting together in angered frustration.

“You know not that I give a shit but why is it you want Kohl gone so bad anyways?” Stiles sighed, eyeing Derek suspiciously.

Derek took a step towards Stiles and Kohl growled viciously, lifting his head off Stiles’ lap to snap his teeth threateningly at the approaching wolf.

“I think I know.” Erica snickered, infinitely amused by the furious look now plastered on Derek’s face.

Derek flashed his Alpha red eyes at Erica who cringed and raised her hands in mock surrender, a small glimmer of amusement still present in her submissive eyes.

“Deaton should be here soon.” Derek spoke, turning his attention back to Stiles. “He can help us figure out a plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Tell me you found something.” Derek huffed, leaning against the counter of his kitchen with the rest of the pack as Deaton laid out some old tomes across the island.

“I may have.” Deaton admitted, flipping one of the tomes open to a page filled with another language and an image of a dragon. “Turns out Kohl is one of the oldest dragons on record. Those hunters have been pursuing him for quite a while.”

“How is that good news?” Derek demanded, folding his arms irately across his chest.

“The older a dragon the greater its power. Kohl’s age makes me think Stiles hasn’t even begun to realize the potential of their bond.” Deaton explained, ignoring Derek’s tone as he pushed the tome towards the pack. “There is, however, also a problem.”

“Of course there is.” Derek sighed, closing the tome with a deep-set frown.

“The hunter currently chained up in the basement of my clinic,” Deaton glanced at Derek with an irritated glare, clearly displeased with the prisoner currently taking up residency in his shop. “Claims the hunters will isolate each of you one by one until there is nothing standing between them and Stiles.”

“See. Now that’s straight out of a hunter-training program.” Stiles exclaimed, smacking the counter for emphasis.

“Let it go, Stiles.” Lydia rolled her eyes at her friend before turning to address Deaton. “If you don’t mind I’d like to come with you to do some research.”

“I could use a capable assistant.” Deaton nodded in agreement. “The rest of you shouldn’t go anywhere without a buddy. Stay together when patrolling. Hopefully that will be enough of a deterrent for the hunters.”

A few short minutes later Lydia had left with Deaton, Jackson insisting he accompany her for protection, and the rest of the pack were out running patrol in the preserve.

“Damn it.” Stiles swore, holding his t-shirt out from his body where he’d spilled his soda down the front of himself. “Be right back!”

He strode to the staircase, peeling his shirt off as he walked and earning a burning stare from Derek that as per usual, he didn’t notice. Derek took a sip of his beer to calm himself, slowly following Stiles so he could watch him walk shirtless up the staircase. When Stiles reached the top and rounded the corner, ducking into the guest room to grab one of his spare shirts, Derek took a step forwards as if to follow him up the stairs, only to receive a snarl from Kohl who bared his teeth and barred him from ascending the stairs, his spines standing threateningly along his back.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek jumped as the mug a few feet from him on the coffee table shattered, the coffee splashing all over the wooden tabletop and the shards of porcelain flinging all over the sitting room floor. It had only been a matter of hours since he’d been left alone with Stiles and already his apartment looked like a bomb went off in it and his nerves were shot. Kohl seemed adamant he was going to stay in physical form, roaming the house as though he owned it, his sharp talons leaving deep scratches in the wood floor and his long body knocking over furniture everywhere he went. Then there was Stiles, who seemed to be growing more and more attached to Kohl but also more and more unstable. Derek had thought Deaton’s tutelage had tamed his growing power but their time alone together so far had seen three shattered glasses and two spontaneous fires.

“Stiles. That’s the third glass. What’s going on?” Derek asked, throwing a heap of paper towels into the quickly spreading puddle of coffee.

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted with a look of concern.

In an instant Derek was smashing the buttons on his cell and Deaton’s voice was answering on the other end. He quickly explained the explosions and the fires and everything else, Deaton listening with rapt attention.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Deaton sighed through the phone. “As Stiles’ bond with Kohl grows, so too will his power. Stiles may be in more immediate danger than we feared.”

“This just keeps getting better.” Derek grumbled, growling as Kohl’s tail smacked him on the back of the head.


	10. The Fires of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come!

“Where is he?” Scott demanded, bursting through the front door to Derek’s house with frantic determination.

“Upstairs.” Erica answered, concern clear on her face. “He’s with Derek.”

“We brought Deaton.” Isaac interjected, rushing through the door with Deaton close behind. “Lydia’s staying with Jackson to do more research.”

“I’ll make my own way up.” Deaton nodded to Scott and the others. “I think it best you wait here. I’m sure Derek is not in his right mind.”

Deaton made his way up the stairs, knocking softly on the door to the guest room before opening it. Derek growled at his presence but made no move to leave Stiles’ side nor look away from him asleep in the bed.

“What happened?” Deaton asked, approaching them slowly so as not to make Derek territorial.

“He just collapsed after we hung up.” Derek admitted, placing a hand on Stiles’ forehead only to wince back in apparent pain. “He’s burning up.”

Deaton strode to the other side of the bed, noting Derek’s body tense as he did so, and placed his hand atop Stiles’ forehead for only an instant before pulling it away.

“Derek. I need you to read this.” Deaton spoke, eyeing him with conviction and handing him a tome.

It took a few moments for Derek to refocus his attention from Stiles to the book in his hands, but eventually he did so, leaving Deaton to work without distraction. The book, although written in a language Derek didn’t understand, depicted images of a man. The man was graced with a tattoo, different in design to Stiles’ but similar nonetheless in that it depicted a dragon. Images scrawled the pages, depicting him flying atop a beast, bathing in flames from the beast’s mouth, and finally lying in the midst of a group of dragons all spraying him with fire.

“Stiles has always had an affinity for fire magic.” Deaton spoke, dipping his fingers in some sort of black liquid and tracing designs on Stiles’ face. “The slightest concentration in our meditation sessions could create towering pillars of flame.”

Deaton continued to trace the designs down onto Stiles’ arms, his body already coated in black ink from Kohl’s return to the dragon tattoo.

“It often worried me. Magic acts like a sort of fuel, using too much of it can burn you out. It never occurred to me that Stiles was simply projecting an internal flame outwards so it wouldn’t kill him.” Deaton continued, finishing his drawings. “That book in your hands details another, long passed, with a similar talent to Stiles. He too bonded with a dragon. However his was a time of peace and the man had much longer to explore the powers of his bond.”

Deaton rinsed his hands of the black ink-like substance on a damp towel and turned to face Derek.

“There was tell of him periodically slipping into trances to more clearly communicate with his bonded dragon. I believe that is what is happening to Stiles.” Deaton clarified.

 

* * *

 

Stiles felt strange. He felt weightless and warm yet somehow calm. The world around him was whirling past in smudges of color and dizzying spinning, as though he were trapped on a rollercoaster going one thousand times the speed it should be.

_“Stiles.”_ A loud voice echoed, making him glance around mildly startled.

_“Do not fear, Stiles.”_ The voice continued. _“You are safe here.”_

“Where is here?” Stiles called, slowly spinning in place to try and see anything that would identify the voice or where he was.

All too suddenly the world froze, as though the rollercoaster had gone from the speed of light to stopped in a single instant. Stiles stumbled, recognizing the feeling of stone beneath his bare feet and brisk wind against his skin.

_“You are in a place forbidden to most humans.”_ The voice echoed, Kohl landing before him on the enormous stone balcony he was apparently standing on. _“You are in my home.”_

“Not to sound ungrateful for the honor,” Stiles spoke, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. “But why am I here?”

_“There are things you need to know Stiles.”_ Kohl answered, his mouth never moving but the words audible clear as day. _“Things about my past. Things about your future.”_

“Alright.” Stiles nodded, the cold wind against his bare skin feeling somehow surreal.

_“In my past there was a faction of hunters. They recognized the power of dragons and wished to exploit it for their own ends. In the naiveté of my youth I hoped to live in peace with them. I allowed them to live with the knowledge of our existence and hoped they would allow us peace.”_ Kohl explained, turning his head to gaze off the balcony.

“I’m guessing they didn’t share your hopes for peace?” Stiles sighed, stepping to the edge of the balcony to peer over the forest below, a wide pristinely natural expanse.

_“They did not.”_ Kohl returned. _“They hunted us down until our numbers dwindled near extinction. They used our flesh for armor and our blood for witchcraft. Even our offspring were stolen, eggs vanishing in the dead of night never to be seen again.”_

“But wait.” Stiles frowned, confusion clear in his voice. “If there were eggs why weren’t there baby dragons to restore the population?”

_“The hunters sought to train dragons from the time they hatched. To train them as obedient slaves used in war.”_ Kohl explained, his voice echoing with anger. _“They did not know, however, that humans cannot possess the power of a dragon without permission. Thus the stolen eggs never hatched in their possession and the dragon population could not be reborn.”_

“Could the dragons not lay more eggs? Or take back the ones stolen?” Stiles asked, Kohl’s anger and pain slowly seeping into his own emotions through their bond.

_“Dragon eggs are incredibly rare.”_ Kohl clarified regretfully. _“Hence the hunters’ desire to possess them. It was this desire that led to their endangerment.”_

“What does this have to do with me?” Stiles asked, watching Kohl from the corner of his eye.

_“The hunters that attacked you today are the same faction. Their ways and our eggs passed from generation to generation as a symbol of their murderous goals.”_ Kohl growled, his teeth baring in anger. _“The remaining dragons will come to you, drawn by our bond and your power. You must protect them. The mistakes in my past have become your burden to carry, however unjust that may seem. Your power alongside an army of dragons will spell the end of the hunters and the return of our stolen children.”_

“I’m not a soldier.” Stiles grimaced, staring over the forest with a hard gaze.

_“That you are not.”_ Kohl agreed wisely. _“You are, however, a king.”_

Before Stiles could ask what Kohl was implying the world was once again smeared with color and whirling by in a dizzying frenzy.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jesus!” Derek exclaimed, the bed suddenly erupting in flames that licked across Stiles’ skin and sent Derek into a panicked frenzy.

The flames billowed up from the bed, consuming Stiles and burning his clothes and the sheets to dust. Then, just as quickly as they’d ignited, the fire was gone and Stiles was left nude and coated in ash on the bed.

“He’s waking up.” Derek growled, hovering closely over Stiles’ face in apparent concern.

Stiles’ eyes first scrunched more tightly closed before they flew open, gazing up at Derek with amber eyes wide with shock.

“A war is coming.” Stiles spoke, firmly and slightly frightened as he locked eyes with Derek.


	11. Herbal Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! more soon

Stiles could hear voices. They were familiar and clear yet somehow distant and unreachable. He knew he was slipping in an out of consciousness, getting only bits and pieces of conversations his mind was desperately trying and failing to put together.

“You haven’t taken it in days.”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Though I was opposed to your taking it in the first place it’s dangerous to suddenly stop altogether.”

“I can handle it.”

“Derek. I don’t think you can.”

Stiles’ mind was reeling. He could recognize the cold, almost medicinal voice of Deaton and the gravelly, animalistic growl of Derek, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what they were talking about. He desperately wanted to remain conscious, even just long enough to hear more than a few sentences.

“You can’t keep us from him!”

“I’m warning you Scott.”

“Just because you’re the Alpha doesn’t mean you own him! He’s not a wolf!”

“It’s more complicated than that, Scott. I think it best you come downstairs with me. Rest assured Stiles is perfectly safe with Derek.”

Stiles felt like he was going insane. He could hear everything in his frozen consciousness, but could see nothing, his eyes remaining shut like they’d been permanently welded that way.

He wanted to frown, but found himself unable to move his face. Another infuriating treat that came with unconsciousness he presumed. In one last stitch attempt, he mustered all his willpower and managed a groan, the noise vibrating through his head loudly and jolting him at least partially awake.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek paced the room like a caged animal, unable to help himself. It had been an entire day since Stiles had spontaneously burst into flames and declared a war was coming. He had questions to say the least and his wolf was clawing at his consciousness with every passing moment to do something. To somehow wake the sleeping man in his bed and demand answers.

After the ignition of the guest bed Derek had moved Stiles to his own bed, and that was causing a whole other set of problems to say the least. His wolf now wanted him awake for more than just answers. A strong, ever-present and burning desire was setting in to claim him. To make sure everyone knew whom Stiles belonged to. His human mind was still in control for the most part, though Scott’s visit had made his wolf erupt in a territoriality that had bordered on murderous.

Stiles groaned from the bed, a soft sound but an unmistakable one nonetheless, and Derek’s pacing stopped, his full attention turning to the bed. Stiles’ head lulled ever so slightly and his eyes flickered, his fingers twitching in subtle movement as his eyes blinked and opened.

“Derek?” Stiles croaked, his amber eyes flitting around the room before settling on him and increasing his desire to possess tenfold. “Where am I?”

“He’s awake!” Derek called, knowing Scott and the others could hear him even without shouting. Still, ensuring others were aware of Stiles’ consciousness helped him restrain himself from doing anything he’d regret. “You’re in my room.” Derek continued once he could hear Deaton’s footsteps traipsing up the stairs towards them.

“Right.” Stiles drawled, a subtle hint of sarcasm seeping into his voice as he slowly sat up. “And where are my clothes?”

“On the floor of the guest room in a pile of ash.” Derek replied, averting his eyes from Stiles as the blanket he’d been wrapped in slipped off his chest to reveal his bare flesh coated in nothing but a slight dusting of ash and the faded smudges of ink Deaton had traced his skin with.

“What? Why?” Stiles demanded, a look of shocked horror flashing across his face.

“You caught fire.” Derek frowned, keeping his eyes fixated on the door and silently begging Deaton to walk faster.

“What? Why?” Stiles repeated in the same horrified tone, his arms spastically flailing as he did so.

“I think I’m better equipped to answer that.” Deaton cleared his throat, opening the door slowly and glancing knowingly at Derek, a look laced with concern. “You slipped into a trance and when I brought you out of it there may have been an unexpected consequence.”

“How unexpected?” Stiles hedged, narrowing his eyes uncertainly at Deaton.

“Let’s just say your current sleeping arrangements are not longer viable.” Deaton offered, grabbing a small light from his pocket and suddenly shining it into Stiles’ eyes.

“Oh god, a little warning next time!” Stiles barked, his hands flying to his eyes, now blinded.

“No concussion. No burns.” Deaton nodded, stashing the light back into his pocket and ignoring the mild growls from Derek at Stiles’ complaint. “You may have a mild headache from the forced eviction from the trance but other than that there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”

“Great.” Stiles replied sarcastically, pursing his lips as he squinted through his temporary blindness. “Now what can’t Derek handle?”

“Excuse me?” Deaton spluttered, looking genuinely taken aback by the sudden topic change.

“You said you didn’t think he could handle stopping taking it.” Stiles pressed, glancing between Deaton and Derek suspiciously, his vision having finally cleared. “What is it?”

Derek grimaced and seemed to shift uncomfortably in place, looking anywhere but at Stiles. Deaton remained silent, surveying Stiles for a few moments before glancing at Derek and sighing.

“It seems you two have a lot to talk about.” Deaton announced, breaking the tense silence hanging in the air. “I’ll let the pack know you’re awake and well. Try not to take too long though, I hear a war is coming.”

“Ha ha.” Stiles rolled his eyes at Deaton, watching as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

The tense silence once again settled over the room and Stiles eyed Derek uneasily, for once unsure how to break the stillness between them.

“It’s complicated.” Derek huffed after a few minutes of silent thought.

“How complicated can it be?” Stiles arched a brow, mildly unsettled at the new level of seriousness in Derek’s tone. “Are you one wolf drugs or something? Meth cut with kibble?”

Derek fixed him with an irritated and clearly frustrated glare that made Stiles wince, slipping into apologetic quiet as he fiddled guiltily with the sheet pooling around him where he sat.

“It’s not meth. It’s just tea.” Derek frowned, carding his hand through his hair as if reluctant to admit as much.

“Tea?” Stiles repeated with a brow arched in disbelief. “The big secret is tea?”

“Yes.” Derek answered, his frown deepening even further as he hesitated before continuing. “Herbal tea to suppress the instincts of a mated wolf.”


	12. It's Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! And don't forget to comment! Your thoughts definitely make me write and update faster.

“What? Why?” Stiles deadpanned, gaping at Derek in confused shock.

“To suppress my mate bond.” Derek answered flatly, clearly trying to mask his discomfort with cold detachment.

“What? Why?” Stiles repeated.

“To give him some space.” Derek returned, his mouth setting into a hard line.

“What? Why?” Stiles said again, the same confused shock permanently fixed on his face.

“Are you broken?” Derek snapped, clearly frustrated with Stiles’ lack of reaction and repetitive questions.

“What?” Stiles blinked, brows knitting together in sudden realization.

“If you say _why_ I swear…” Derek warned angrily, only to be cut off by Stiles mouth finally catching up to his brain.

“No. Wait. Mate? You have a mate? Wait. Him? So your mate’s a man?” Stiles reeled off his confused questions at a million miles a minute, finally coming back to his original confused shock. “Wait? What?”

“And this is why I take the tea.” Derek huffed, carding his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Hang on. You can’t mean. Am I? Are we?” Stiles stammered, pointing between himself and Derek despite not being able to finish his sentences.

“Yes. I mean no. I mean… it’s complicated.” Derek replied, his eyes boring into Stiles in search of something Stiles couldn’t identify else he would have given it.

“Calculus is complicated. Dragon tattoos and mystical wars are complicated. Is this _actually_ complicated or are you making it complicated?” Stiles frowned, finding himself finally able to speak properly with the help of sarcasm.

“You tell me.” Derek arched a brow, his eyes locking with Stiles’ in a heated stare.

“I… I think I love you.” Stiles stammered, barely a mumble, his eyes never averting from Derek’s as he spoke.

“Think?” Derek repeated, his brow inching ever so slightly higher on his forehead.

“Know.” Stiles amended firmly, louder than before and filled with conviction.

“Are you sure?” Derek pressed, his eyes flickering between Alpha red and his normal green as if his human consciousness and wolf were vying for dominance.

“Are you?” Stiles returned, still completely bewildered as to how Derek was so certain they were bonded.

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be drinking that shitty tea.” Derek frowned, dark sarcasm lacing his words.

A few moments of silence passed between them, filled with nothing but heated stares and a quickly growing lust that was almost palpable between them, until Stiles suddenly erupted back into conversation.

“Right! The tea! What is it? Is it harmful? What does it do? Why can’t you stop taking it?” He asked so quickly even he had trouble speaking clearly and separating the words.

“It’s…” Derek began hesitantly.

“If you say complicated I swear to god I’ll lace all your booze with mistletoe.” Stiles promised, eyes narrowing in playful threatening.

“Complex.” Derek finished with a small sarcastic smirk.

“Very funny.” Stiles rolled his eyes, before settling them back on Derek and readjusting the sheet pooling around him to ensure he was still safely covered.

“I’ve been taking it for so long if I suddenly stop all the instincts to claim and protect and defend will flood back like a wave.” Derek grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose in clear frustration.

“So basically you’ve created a situation where you’ve delayed your feelings until they’ll consume you and threaten everyone else.” Stiles huffed with a slight frown and a shake of his head. “Are you stupid? Why didn’t you tell me about this before? For that matter how have you managed to smuggle this magical tea without me knowing.”

“Deaton.” Derek shrugged, his face slipping into an amused smirk as he continued. “Though you did deliver it to me once.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and Derek could practically see the gears turning behind them as Stiles desperately tried to remember what he was talking about.

“That weird brown package! After my session with Deaton!” Stiles shouted, part smug content from remembering and part frustrated realization. “I knew that thing was suspicious! Bastard!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t look inside it.” Derek chuckled, slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Oh I did.” Stiles smirked deviously, earning a sharp glare from Derek. “But all that was in it was leaves… Bastard!”

Derek rolled his eyes as Stiles spoke, slightly impressed he’d managed to sneak a peek into the sealed package without anyone noticing but mostly amused at Stiles’ slow comprehension. Then again, he had just woken up from a trance after catching fire so a little mental sluggishness wasn’t really that big of a deal all things considered.

“We should go downstairs.” Derek sighed, glancing between Stiles and the door. “The others are probably waiting to hear about this war.”

“Or.” Stiles smirked, getting to his feet and holding the sheet loosely around his waist. “We could have some fun with our mate bond.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Derek growled, his eyes flashing between wolf and human more rapidly as he surveyed Stiles’ mostly nude form striding towards him. “With the tea gone I could hurt you. Everything is amplified.”

“I thought you said you could handle it.” Stiles purred, locking his lust filled eyes with Derek and trailing a finger down his torso until it got to the waistline of his jeans.

“Stiles.” Derek warned, an animalistic undertone to his voice as his eyes finally settled on Alpha red.

“Oops.” Stiles smirked, the sheet dropping to the floor around his feet and leaving him standing there completely nude. “What now?”

“No oops! No now!” Scott’s voice roared up the stairs, clearly having been eavesdropping on their conversation with wolf hearing. “Hurry up and come down here!”

Stiles huffed, clearly aggravated with the interruption but turned to move away from Derek nonetheless. In response, Derek grabbed him, pulling his naked back against him, and although Derek was still clothed, Stiles could feel every muscle that lay beneath.

“Derek?” Stiles asked softly, afraid Derek would stop whatever it was he was doing if he spoke.

Derek’s lips brushed against the crook of his neck, his jaw nestling between his neck and shoulder and grazing Stiles’ bare flesh with the stubble that came from remaining at someone’s bedside without leave. Stiles inhaled sharply, reveling in the feel of Derek’s mouth on his skin, the soft yet forceful pull where he was sucking and the slight twinge from his being unshaven.

A moment passed with Stiles swooning under the sudden advance before Derek pulled away. He ran his fingers along Stiles’ jaw, tilting his head to better see the hickey he’d left on Stiles’ pale flesh, before pulling away entirely.

Stiles turned to ask what the hell was going on, only to be smacked in the face by track pants and a muscle shirt.

“Hey!” Stiles yelped, flailing as he tried and failed to catch the clothes being flung at him.

“Your clothes are dust. These have a drawstring waist so they’ll have to do for now.” Derek spoke, watching as Stiles quickly pulled them on, the clothes absolutely swamping him in size.

“You’re eyes are red.” Stiles pointed out, glancing at Derek’s glowing Alpha eyes as he pulled on the muscle shirt.

“I know.” Derek sighed, quickly pushing Stiles out the bedroom door and down the stairs before his wolf could do anything more than leave a kiss mark.


	13. Frostbitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! Enjoy and more to come soon. I love you guys' comments and thoughts so far! Keep them coming they make me update faster. Also, I know a lot of you want a reference picture for Kohl so I'm searching for something that will work and will hopefully have found a picture to post by my next update!

“It’s about time!” Jackson growled, his jaw flexing in irritation as Stiles and Derek descended the stairs and joined them in the sitting area.

“Shut up Jackson.” Stiles spat, narrowing his eyes venomously at the wolf sitting with Lydia in an armchair.

“What were you doing up there?” Erica asked, eyeing Stiles suspiciously despite the knowing glint in her eyes.

“Please don’t answer that.” Scott mumbled, his face contorting into clear discomfort.

“Perhaps we should stick to the topic of war.” Deaton offered, gesturing for Stiles to take an open seat on the couch.

“Cause that always lightens the mood.” Stiles mumbled with a roll of his eyes as he collapsed onto the couch.

“I’m sorry what would you like to talk about?” Deaton arched a brow at Stiles, stoic as ever despite the sarcastic bite under his words.

“How about your illicit drug operation.” Stiles returned, narrowing his eyes accusingly at Deaton as he broached the topic of Derek’s magical herbs.

“How about we stick to the war.” Deaton frowned, refusal clear in his eyes as he dismissed Stiles’ inquiry.

“Fine.” Stiles huffed with a displeased scowl before changing the subject. “What do you want to know?”

“How about what in the holy hell you’re talking about.” Lydia interjected in her usual sharp and to the point manner.

“The war between the hunters and the dragons.” Stiles replied, gazing at her as though it should be obvious.

“Last time I checked none of us were dragons.” Jackson grumbled bitterly, a silent yet clear intent to reject whatever it was Stiles was involved in.

“Kohl is.” Stiles returned with a venomous glare.

“Still not seeing our involvement.” Jackson retorted, matching Stiles’ glare with his own.

“You have no involvement.” Stiles mouth set into a hard line as he stoned himself against Jackson’s baiting. “I do.”

“What? Why?” Scott demanded, clearly disconcerted by Stiles’ declaration.

“I’m supposed to lead.” Stiles sighed, sloughing back into the couch as if doing so would make the statement less heavy and prevent the pack from overreacting.

“Lead what?” Scott hedged, not liking where the conversation was heading.

“The dragons.” Stiles shrugged, as if declaring his leadership over mythical reptiles was the most natural thing in the world.

“What dragons? Last time I checked there was only one and he was the one _running_ from the hunters.” Jackson enunciated sharply, his jaw flexing as he glared at Stiles, silently accusing him of being unhinged.

“I don’t know yet.” Stiles admitted reluctantly, unable to prevent the slight grimace that appeared on his face.

“So you’re intending to lead an imaginary army into war with hunters whose sole intention is to kill you?” Jackson recapped in harsh disbelief.

“Well when you say it like that…” Stiles trailed off, unease settling on his features as he was promptly cut off by Jackson once more.

“Are you Stupid?” Jackson barked, leaning forward to give Stiles a clearer view of his bared teeth and flared nostrils.

“No!” Stiles retorted defensively, jerking upright to glare at Jackson more prominently. “If you’d just let me explain.”

“Oh so you’re just delusional!” Jackson interrupted loudly, anger radiating off him in waves as the rest of the pack simply watched the two of them arguing in mild concern and clear confusion.

“No!” Stiles boomed aggressively, bolting to his feet with clenched fists so he was looming over Jackson still seated on the armchair with only a small coffee table between them.

Jackson stared back up at him in defiant anger, a silent battle of wills festering between them and making the tense anger quickly filling the room almost palpable.

Without warning, a small cat-sized dragon dropped down onto the back of Jackson’s head, sending him crumpling forwards under its sudden unexpected weight. The small beast opened its mouth, letting out a high pitched shriek that made the wolves cringe before jumping off of Jackson and soaring over to Stiles to land on his shoulder as though it belonged there.

Stiles gaped at the miniature dragon, completely taken aback by its sudden appearance yet infinitely amused by the clearly pained yet seriously pissed look on Jackson’s face as he righted himself back to a normal sitting position.

The dragon felt cold against the skin of his shoulder, not unbearably so but noticeably colder than he was used to feeling. As Jackson sat up Stiles noticed tiny frost crystals dancing in his hair where the creature had landed, reflecting the light momentarily before they started to melt under his unnatural werewolf heat. The dragon screeched again as Jackson glared at it, touching the back of his head as if afraid it had left some sort of permanent damage.

“What the hell Stilinksi?” Jackson growled, dropping his hand from the back of his head only when he was content there was nothing there besides a frigid cold.

“Don’t look at me.” Stiles shrugged, the dragon hopping off his shoulder at the movement and flapping its wings to land on the coffee table with another piercing screech.

The creature made an odd tinkling sound as he moved, subtle but clearly audible in the stunned silence that had befallen the room. It was a strange color, not white but not blue, an almost translucent quality to its skin that was as unnatural as it was hypnotizing. It had no scales yet wasn’t smooth, its skin an expanse of hard edges and sharp looking points that erupted from it at random angles and threatened to puncture anyone who approached. It’s head had large spines erupting from it like daggers and its eyes were noting but faintly glowing orbs of white light that seemed to unsettle Jackson immensely as they settled on him. The webbing on its wings was entirely translucent, as though a thin layer of ice was all that allowed it flight despite the impossibility of that notion.

The beast opened its mouth, revealing a full set of needlelike teeth that were entirely translucent and almost unnoticeable despite their deadliness if not for the light bouncing off them as though reflecting on ice. It screeched once more and in a split second Jackson went from wearily staring at the beast to yelping and lurching out of the armchair with ice crystalized through his hair as he danced around the room trying in vain to slough it off.

“Stilinski!” He bellowed, clearly un-amused by Stiles’ muffled laughter in the face of his discomfort.

“Try a hot shower?” Stiles offered, unsure in his own advice as he coughed to break his laughter.

“Fascinating.” Deaton spoke, level and curious as he stepped forward to examine the beast from a slightly better vantage point. “It appears as though this one has dominion over ice.”

“No shit.” Jackson growled, still ruffling his hair to try and get the remaining frost out.

Stiles rolled his eyes, scratching the back of his neck absently as he surveyed the dragon strutting back and forth on the coffee table screeching irritably at the surrounding wolves.

Without warning, Derek grabbed the back collar of his shirt, making him cough and splutter as the neckline cut him across the throat and momentarily stole his air supply.

“What the hell?” Stiles demanded, trying to turn to face Derek only to have the man plant his hands on either side of Stiles’ head and forcibly tilt it forwards despite his protests.

A growl erupted from Derek’s chest and Stiles froze, his eyes darting around in mild panic despite only being able to see everyone’s feet from the angle his head had been forced to.

“What’s happening?” Stiles demanded in clear concern.

“You have a new tattoo.” Derek growled, a furious edge to his voice as he traced his fingers over the base of Stiles’ neck right at his hairline.

Stiles shivered at the light touch, the itching of his neck returning, as he suddenly became hyperaware of the area.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, his eyes continuing to dart over everyone’s shoes as if he could somehow find answered there.

“A dragon.” Derek growled, brows knitting together unhappily as the corners of his mouth downturned.

On the back of Stiles’ neck was a small tattoo, raw and somewhat painful looking, directly in line with the column of his spine. The ink was pale and almost translucent, just like the skin of the dragon currently leaving claw marks all over the coffee table. It was a somewhat abstract depiction of the ice dragon’s head, complete with supernaturally glowing eyes that no normal tattoo could possible capture.

“How cute, you match.” Jackson sneered to Stiles, gesturing between him and the miniature dragon whose face was now permanently engrained on Stiles’ skin.

Stiles glared piercingly at Jackson, who looked smug with his condescending commentary.

“Shut it Jackson.” Stiles barked icily, narrowing his eyes at the wolf in irritation.

As if on cue, a thick layer of ice suddenly formed over Jackson’s mouth making him unable to say another word even if he felt so inclined. Jackson’s eyes widened in shock before his hands clapped to his mouth to claw frantically at the icy gag now affixed there.

“Well. At least one good thing came of this.” Isaac smirked, glancing amusedly at Jackson, unable to speak with his mouth frozen shut.


	14. Instructions Not Included

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come. Don't forget to comment.

To say the Hale house was full of dragons would be an understatement.

After the arrival of the ice dragon, several more had spontaneously found their way to Stiles, appearing at the most inconvenient of times and effectively terrorizing the pack in doing so.

Already one had burst in through a window while Allison and Scott were getting hot and heavy, immediately halting their love-making when Scott instinctively went to attack the intruder only to be thrown through a wall. A love dragon they had quickly learned. Another had appeared in the tub with Isaac when he was trying to have a bath, sending him leaping out of the tub and running downstairs naked in clear alarm. A water dragon that’d emerged from the drain. And perhaps the most infuriatingly intrusive of all in Stiles’ opinion, a dream dragon that had invaded a particularly raunchy dream he’d been having about Derek. Try explaining that interruption when the pack rushes in to you shouting profanities.

All in all, the house was crawling with dragons and each new one brought a new tattoo on Stiles’ spine.

A death dragon made entirely of dark bones, with unnerving red eyes and nothing holding him together in terms of skin or muscle meant a tattoo of a skull with a dragon weaving in and out of its orifices. A dragon literally made out of fire, branding him with the dragon’s face erupting in flames. A storm dragon whose form was billowing like the clouds and glowing with electric lightning meant a tattoo of a lightening bolt with dragon’s wings. A volcano dragon whose dark scales were broken with lines of molten lava meant a tattoo of a dragon claw melting into magma. The dream dragon, a long almost snake like creature with soft wool-like fluff covering it’s entire body save for its mouth sporting razor sharp teeth and it’s belly, hard and armored, made a strange sheep-like tattoo with razor sharp fangs and claws appear. The list went on. A nightmare dragon. A wind dragon. A sea dragon. A mountain dragon. A forest dragon.

As days passed more and more ferocious beasts emerged, roaming the house like they owned it and putting Derek in an especially foul mood.

“Have you found out why they’re all obsessed with Stiles?” Derek ground out, looking so on edge it was making the pack squirm.

“Not yet, though I wish Stiles was able to go into more detail as to why he was chosen.” Deaton sighed, glancing at Stiles who simply frowned and shrugged before responding.

“I didn’t exactly get time to ask hard questions. Or any questions for that matter. I was forcibly evicted from the meeting.” Stiles huffed, reminding everyone for the hundredth time how he’d been pulled out of his trance before Kohl had finished speaking.

“Lydia and I are doing all we can, but information on a supernatural species thought by most to be myth and others to be long extinct is not exactly readily available.” Deaton continued, speaking to Derek who didn’t look the slightest bit pleased with the answer. “Besides, a more pressing issue has come to my attention.”

“More pressing than my house being overrun with miniaturized lizards?” Derek spat, eyeing Deaton like he was a lunatic.

“Maybe if _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_ over there would stop shrinking them.” Jackson bit, eyes darting around at some of the small reptiles lounging nearby. “They would be forced to stay outside.”

Jackson had been the first to try and evict the dragons, specifically the ice dragon just after he’d managed to finally unfreeze his mouth and speak again. He’d only just forced the frosty creature three feet outside when the beast had suddenly grown to its actual size, a towering behemoth of ice powered fury that turned on Jackson and almost took his head off had he not jumped out of the way just in time. Needless to say he was still bitter. But the incident had led Deaton to surmise that the dragons were not naturally cat-sized, they were shrinking down in order to remain indoors close to Stiles.

“Seriously? You think I just say something like ‘ _Higitus Figitus’_ and they shrink?” Stiles rolled his eyes, flailing exaggeratedly at Jackson as if that somehow emphasized his point.

The second the words left his mouth Jackson shrank to about a foot tall before immediately re-growing to his normal height, a blatantly alarmed look on his face as he promptly felt every one of his limbs to ensure they were still there. _Every one_.

“Never do that again!” Jackson barked when he was sure all his parts were normal sized.

“Huh.” Stiles exhaled, surprised with himself before mumbling. “I wonder what would happen if I recited the whole song?”

“I’d rip out your tongue.” Jackson promised flatly, narrowing his eyes threateningly at Stiles.

Stiles fixed Jackson with a flat stare of derision but said nothing more to start a fight that was clearly brewing.

“And that brings us back to the more pressing issue.” Deaton sighed, shaking his head. “Stiles’ power grows with each new dragon that joins him. He’s getting out of control.”

“I’m in control.” Stiles retorted in an offended tone.

“You just shrunk Jackson by accident.” Lydia snipped, clearly supporting Deaton’s concerns. “Not to mention yesterday you accidently set the drapes on fire and then accidently flooded the room when you tried to put it out.”

“Let’s not forget when I touched your shoulder I immediately fell asleep.” Erica crossed her arms accusingly.

“In my defense how was I supposed to know what a dream dragon does?” Stiles scoffed, as though his unfamiliarity with his newfound abilities excused his terrorizing everyone in the house.

 “The point is, Stiles needs training before he hurts someone.” Deaton clarified, ending the banter between Stiles and the pack.

“Can’t you just take away his power?” Jackson demanded, earning a harsh glare from Stiles.

“Theoretically yes.” Deaton admitted, though there was something weary in his voice that put Stiles on edge.

“Theoretical doesn’t sound very safe.” Stiles eyed Deaton suspiciously.

“The sigil tattoos on Stiles’ spine strengthen his connection to each of the dragons, which is why he can so easily tap into their abilities.” Deaton explained, a hard look of calm on his face despite the unease behind his eyes. “If we cut off the tattoos the connections may be severed.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in horror, visualizing the painful experience of his flesh being severed from his body just to remove his tattoos and curb his powers. His heart rate spiked in terror and Kohl sprung forwards from his skin, rushing Deaton with ferocious animosity and a growl that promised bloody murder should anyone actually try to cut Stiles into pieces.

“I think that’s a no.” Deaton nodded, glancing around Kohl at Derek and the pack.

“Seconded.” Stiles agreed, horror still clear in his eyes as he spoke.


	15. Missing Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! More really soon but comment and let me know your thoughts!

Stiles stood in the shower, basking in the feeling of warm water running over him. His muscles were tense from Deaton’s training and though he would never admit it out loud, the new tattoos running up his spine were sore. He supposed that was to be expected when you had supernatural sigils branded into your skin but nonetheless they stung rubbing against his shirt while training and it felt amazing to have the warm water soothing them now.

He felt exhausted and irritable. It had been a few days since Derek had revealed his magical tea and the fact they were actually mates and in that time Stiles hadn’t managed to bring them closer at all. His days were filled with strenuous training and dragons that wanted him all to themselves, leaving little room for Derek to approach unless he wanted to be roasted, frozen or the like. At night Stiles had thought things would progress fairly quickly. With the guest bed burned to a crisp he’d been sharing a bed with Derek, something he thought would lead to some intense sex. He’d been wrong. His training was so intense he was lucky to still be awake by the time Derek climbed into bed, let alone take part in any sexy fun times.

He inhaled, dragging his hand across his face and through his hair and with it bringing a handful of water over his skin. Outside the shower music was playing loud enough to drown out anything that may have been happening downstairs. Kohl was lounging just outside the house with some of the other dragons, keeping a watchful eye on the bathroom window but giving him some much needed space. The pack was downstairs, no doubt arguing about something or other, as they’d been doing the past few days. Get involved? Don’t get involved? Whether to even believe Stiles about the coming war. They had endless questions, and without answers on his part tensions were beginning to run high.

He had told the pack general facts. That a war was coming. That hunters were after him and the dragons. That he was meant to lead the dragons into battle. He hadn’t given any specifics outside of that. No one else knew about the dragon eggs still in the hunters’ possession. No one knew that his mission was actually that of rescue not of murder, though he suspected some murder would naturally follow regardless of his best intentions. He especially hadn’t mentioned Kohl labeling him a king. Not even he knew what exactly the creature had meant and short of slipping back into a trance he doubted he’d be figuring it out anytime soon.

He felt like he was missing important pieces of a puzzle. Pieces that could change the picture entirely.

Sighing, he turned the water off, the spray turning cold from how long he’d been in the shower. He climbed out, not bothering with a towel as he wiped the condensation off the mirror to assess himself.

In all honesty, he didn’t look much different than when this had all started save for his newfound tattoos, of which the only one clearly visible to him was the original one over his heart. He drew his fingers over the ink before moving his hand to graze the back of his neck where he knew the other sigils now were. The sigils on his spine felt different, each one a unique sensation beneath his touch. One cold, another hot, another hard and rough, and so on.

“Stiles?” A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, making him start as he realized someone had entered the bathroom without him noticing.

“You scared me.” Stiles admitted in a mumbled exhale he knew Derek could hear even over the loud music.

“Do they hurt?” Derek asked, taking a step closer to Stiles with a concerned look on his face.

Stiles gazed at him in the mirror, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in the face of Derek’s worry.

“No. Just different is all.” Stiles offered him, starkly aware he was completely nude but resolving himself not to care. “Did something happen?”

“You’re upset.” Derek spoke, neither a question nor a judgment, simply a statement.

Stiles arched a brow at him in silent questioning, wondering why Derek had barged into the bathroom simply to inform him of his own emotions.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek eyed Stiles, keeping his gaze trained on his face in the reflection of the mirror so as to curb the wave of lust hitting him at finding his mate naked. Stiles eyed him back, clearly confused as to what he was doing there in the first place. He honestly didn’t know how to answer that question, so he said nothing.

He’d been sitting with the pack downstairs, listening to the heavy pounding of Stiles’ music as he absently conversed with Isaac about nothing important. It had hit him like a brick, the overwhelming feeling of needing to rush to Stiles’ side. The feeling that something was wrong. He’d left Isaac midsentence to venture upstairs to Stiles, leaving the wolf confused and Derek even more so. It wasn’t until he actually saw Stiles, a look of deep thought and pain on his face as he traced some of the tattoos on his back, that he realized it was the mate bond ushering him to Stiles’ side. He sensed Stiles’ unease and felt the need to protect.

“Stiles?” Derek spoke, inching carefully into the bathroom so as not to startle him.

Stiles’ eyes darted to him in the mirror, wide with shock before he exhaled and they relaxed. Amber gazed hypnotically at him through the reflection, appearing calm despite the nervousness Derek could smell on him like a thick cloud of cologne.

“You scared me.” Stiles mumbled, barely audible, even for Derek, over the loud thumping of music.

“Do they hurt?” Derek asked, reflexively taking a step towards his mate to ease the pain.

It vaguely scared Derek how much he wanted to take Stiles into his arms. To hold him close and inhale his scent and keep him safe. It was impossible to keep Stiles safe; the man was nothing if not stubborn and that stubbornness had almost gotten him killed on numerous occasions.

It had taken everything he had to stop from tearing Jackson’s head off during the pack meeting. No one had noticed his claws digging painfully into the palms of his hands as he watched the beta argue with his mate.

It had taken even more to restrain himself from tearing out Deaton’s throat when the man suggested cutting Stiles’ tattoos off. Luckily Kohl had ended that conversation before Derek’s wolf took over, but it had still been a close call.

“No. Just different is all.” Stiles replied with a soft smile, making Derek release a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. “Did something happen?”

“You’re upset.” Derek spoke, the words leaving his mouth before he fully understood what he was saying and making him frown slightly at his own abruptness.

Stiles arched a brow at him and Derek exhaled, dragging one of his hands through his hair to calm his erratic thoughts before daring to speak again.

“Nothing happened.” Derek offered, answering Stiles’ question. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles promised, entirely unconvincingly.

Derek watched as Stiles’ face faltered from unyielding resolve to a clearly troubled frown after he spoke. A few moments of silence passed between them, with Stiles wordlessly contemplating something and Derek carefully assessing his mate’s face in confused concern.

“Actually.” Stiles broached, his eyes flashing up to lock with Derek’s from where they’d been staring at the floor. “I’m not fine.”

Derek tensed, unsure how to take Stiles’ sudden confession. He took a step towards him, eyes frantic with concern as Stiles continued.

“I’m frustrated.” Stiles growled, an undercurrent to his declaration that made Derek freeze as his wolf tried to claw its way to the surface, howling for him to take Stiles. To kiss him. To hold him. To _fuck_ him.

“We’re mates, aren’t we?” Stiles narrowed his eyes questioningly at Derek, an electric spark deep in his amber orbs.

Derek nodded, still frozen and unsure what exactly Stiles was trying to do other than drive his wolf to madness with desire.

“Then why…” Stiles purred lustily, closing the few feet left between them where Derek had become immobile. “Haven’t you done anything to me?”

Derek was acutely aware of Stiles’ hand as it ventured onto his torso, warm and almost electric as it traced circles absently before venturing slightly lower.

“Or maybe.” Stiles continued as his fingers played with the waistband of Derek’s jeans before popping the button open. “I should do some things to you.”

Derek inhaled sharply as Stiles’ hand plunged into his jeans, his warm fingers finding Derek’s cock immediately and making Derek’s eyes flash red with animalistic lust. A greedy growl erupted from Derek’s chest as Stiles’ licked his lips while his hand wrapped around his shaft.

In an instant Stiles was swept up into his arms and they were on their way to the bed, Stiles with a cocky grin on his face and Derek with a rock hard cock and a mind filled with ways to make Stiles writhe beneath him.


	16. Animalistic Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! More soon!

Stiles squeaked as Derek threw him roughly down onto the bed. The mattress whined under the sudden weight and Stiles scrambled to prop himself up and peer at Derek standing at the foot of the bed. Derek stared back at him, eyes hooded with desire and bright red with animalistic need.

He was silent as he surveyed Stiles, eyes trailing up Stiles’ legs and body until they locked with Stiles’ and a low growl of pleasure vibrated through his chest. The sound made Stiles inhale sharply and his stomach flip in excited anticipation.

He watched as Derek peeled off his shirt at the foot of the bed, jeans still unbuttoned from Stiles’ advance and hanging slightly lower than normal on his hips. Without his shirt Derek looked even more animalistic. The piece of fabric dropped to the floor, leaving in its place a brilliant view of Derek’s chiseled body and the small trail disappearing into the band of his underwear.

Stiles swallowed, heart thundering in his chest as he took in the stunning sight that was his mate.

Derek crawled towards him from the foot of the bed, muscles flexing as he moved atop Stiles and the bed dipping under his weight. Stiles had never felt more exposed in his life. He was intensely aware he was stark naked beneath Derek, the heat of Derek’s exposed skin pressing against his own sending electric jolts through him as though a live wire were trapped between their bodies.

He fisted the messy bed sheets, clutching at them desperately in a futile attempt to remain calm in the face of the rippling man beginning to press his lips to Stiles’ hips.

Stiles moaned, entangling his free hand in Derek’s dark hair where the man was hovering around his cock. His warm breath tickled Stiles’ skin and made him buck in unfulfilled need. Derek held his hips still in response, wrapping his strong hands around his sides and keeping them infuriatingly still.

Derek’s lips grazed Stiles’ hip, soft and quick and leaving him desperate for more. They ventured just bellow his bellybutton next, lingering there slightly longer, sucking at the pale flesh for a few moments before once again pulling away.

Stiles hissed in dissatisfied frustration, Derek’s mouth finding its way everywhere except where he really wanted it. A torturous amount of time passed with Derek tracing his lips over the flesh between Stiles’ hips, speckling him with hickeys and leaving him panting with unfulfilled need.

“Derek.” Stiles exhaled through clenched jaw, tightening his grip in the man’s hair in silent demand for more contact.

With a gruff, rumbling chuckle Derek’s mouth finally found Stiles’ cock, the sudden contact making Stiles cry out in pleasure as his back arched off the bed. Derek’s mouth was hot and wet and downright sinful. His tongue glided across him, swirling and licking in the most perfect of ways as he sucked.

Stiles panted and moaned at the sensation. The softness of Derek’s mouth combined with the sharpness of his stubble against his bare flesh and the unyielding movement of Derek’s tongue was pushing him to the brink. He inhaled, feeling the familiar tightness in his core that signaled a climax was near.

As if sensing the same, Derek suddenly pulled away, leaving Stiles hard and panting and frustrated at the lost opportunity for completion. Stiles groaned unhappily, his chest heaving as he slowly came down from the brink to find Derek staring at him with smug eyes filled with absolute control.

“Stay still.” Derek smirked, opening a drawer in the bedside table and pulling out a black bottle.

Stiles obeyed, allowing Derek to flip him over so his ass was in the air and his hands were clutching the sheets on either side of his head. He inhaled sharply as a cold liquid dripped between his ass cheeks, making him shiver and squirm against the foreign sensation. It tickled his skin, creating a strange sensation somewhere between itchiness and arousal.

Before Stiles could move or complain, Derek’s fingers were pressing the cold liquid inside of him, slowly stretching him and making him stifle a moan into the bed sheets. First one finger, then two, by the time Derek had three fingers moving inside him he felt like he was losing his mind. Everything felt white-hot and electric and he found himself unable to curb the erotic sounds escaping his mouth as he arched his back to deepen the connection between himself and Derek’s fingers.

His toes were curled, digging into the messy sheets as though they could stop him from being suddenly spirited away. Derek stopped, retracting his fingers torturously slowly and making Stiles groan at the sudden loss of friction and empty feeling they left behind. Derek leaned over him in response to the sound, nipping at the base of his neck and making Stiles shudder before he thrust into him from behind.

Stiles cried out louder than he’d intended, grateful his music was still thundering in the bathroom to drown out his noises from the rest of the pack. Derek seemed to love the sound, however, and before long he had set an overwhelming pace of thrusting in slowly and pulling out quickly that had Stiles mewling erotically and writhing under Derek’s hold.

The depth of their connection was almost unbearable and as Stiles grew closer to climax and his cries grew louder Derek began growling carnally in response, his thrusts becoming more ruthless. Just before Stiles came, Derek flipped him onto his back, continuing his pounding while locking eyes with Stiles.

His eyes were dark with lust and possessive desire as he watched Stiles moan and twist under his touch. Stiles peered up at him, eyes thick with almost entranced need as he surveyed Derek’s face. The weight of his gaze and the rippling of his taught muscles as he moved atop him were enough to send him over the edge. He cried out, a thick, lascivious sound as he came, his muscles tensing and toes curling as he did so. Derek seemed all to eager to follow, watching Stiles expression intently as he filled him. Stiles moaned, fingers digging into Derek’s biceps as he felt Derek finish, and Derek stared down at him, pleased satisfaction clear in his eyes.

A few moments passed with Stiles panting heavily as he came down from his high and Derek watching Stiles attentively with animalistic eyes that took in every expression, every breath with careful consideration. When Derek finally rolled off of him, laying on his back beside Stiles, he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed at the sudden loss of contact. As if sensing as much, Derek pulled Stiles closer, drawing him in to rest Stiles’ head against his chest as they both relaxed into the afterglow of sex.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek laid beside Stiles, the man wrapped in his arms and still panting slightly from their lovemaking. He watched him, the way his eyes fluttered shut before snapping open again as if resisting the urge to give in to sleep, the way the corners of his mouth would twinge slightly every so often as he smiled in Derek’s arms.

His wolf was humming contentedly inside of him, satisfied at having finally laid claim to his mate. Derek felt odd, like a newfound connection existed between him and Stiles. Their bond felt even stronger than before, even more intoxicating and intense in the face of their newfound intimate connection. It actually made Derek slightly unsettled.

It’d been hard enough keeping himself under control before. Now everything felt amplified and electrically charged and he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep it together. He’d only just stopped drinking his suppressant tea, and the sudden flood of the bond had been almost insanity inducing. He’d barely stopped himself from forcing Stiles into bed and murdering anyone who dared question his mate. Now the bond felt even stronger. He could even feel Stiles’ bliss and sleepiness through the strengthened tether.

He tightened his grip slightly on Stiles and the man hummed happily in his arms, finally beginning to allow sleep to overtake him. Derek exhaled, watching Stiles fall asleep. There was no going back. They’d had sex. Derek had given in to his animal need to claim and he’d have to live with the consequences.

He just hoped that didn’t mean murdering members of his pack when Stiles inevitably mouthed off or picked a fight with them.


	17. Unchecked Ferocity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment your thoughts!

Stiles stood outside the Hale house in the small clearing before the wooded preserve took over. Jackson stood a few feet in front of him, eyes narrowed and teeth bared menacingly as he growled threateningly at Stiles.

Deaton stood on the porch of the house, observing them from a safe distance as per usual.

“Remember Jackson.” Deaton called in a level yet warning voice. “This is simply for teaching purposes. In no way is the intention to kill Stiles.”

Jackson scoffed in derision, disregarding Deaton’s words and narrowing his eyes even further at Stiles. Stiles narrowed his own eyes in response, lips pursing in irritated displeasure at the cocky wolf.

“I don’t think he could regardless.” Stiles sneered at Jackson with a sinister grin. “I’d kill him far before he got the chance.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Deaton mumbled in a whisper only loud enough for wolf ears.

Stiles watched as Jackson’s eyes shot to Deaton in genuine alarm before he carefully set his face back into a menacing glower and returned to glaring at Stiles. He wasn’t entirely sure what the wolf had heard to make him so clearly anxious and frankly, he didn’t really care. This was the first time since Deaton had started training Stiles that he was allowed an actual sparring partner. It had taken days of pestering and endless amounts of meditation sessions before Deaton had finally conceded, though Stiles suspected he’d only done so to get some small modicum of silence.

Jackson flexed his hands and Stiles eyes his claws with weary excitement. He’d never been strong enough to actually fight alongside the pack before. It was exhilarating to finally have a chance.

“I’ll try not to hurt you.” Jackson frowned, as if reluctant to make such a promise.

“No promises.” Stiles shrugged back, smirking when Jackson growled in clear anger at Stiles smarminess.

As if finally giving in to his rage, Jackson rushed forwards, swiping at Stiles with extended claws and no hint of restraint. Stiles dodged the swipe, leaping backwards just in time to avoid being gutted. Stiles frowned, patting his chest and stomach to ensure everything was still in tact before exhaling deeply towards Jackson.

His breath was visible in the warm afternoon air, foggy and filled with crystalized water as the frigid cold followed his exhale. Jackson yelped as the frost touched the skin of his face, coating his hair with tiny flecks of ice and making him hop around as though someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

Harnessing the abilities of the ice dragon had taken time, but he was becoming quite skilled at it. He’d had longer to experiment with that particular dragon than the others, as he was second to arrive after Kohl. It also didn’t hurt that the ice dragon seemed to hate Jackson since their first meeting, making Jackson resent the attack more than any other.

“Watch it dickhead!” Jackson snarled, shaking the last remnants of ice out of his air and stopping his ridiculous dance.

He once again rushed at Stiles, clawing at him ruthlessly and with vicious growls. Stiles dodged, taking a few steps back and a few to the side, dancing around Jackson rather than harnessing his connections to the dragons.

Stiles chuckled as Jackson grew more and more furious with every missed strike, snarling and slashing on pure instinct. With every passing moment he was becoming more wolf than man, fueled by instinctual anger and attacking with less restraint and forethought and more murderous intent.

“Be careful Stiles!” Deaton bellowed from the porch, clearly troubled by how Stiles was angering Jackson.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek strolled out onto the porch to stand beside Deaton, folding his arms across his chest as he surveyed Stiles and Jackson. Deaton had warned him that they would be sparring, not wanting Derek to be caught off guard when it came to Stiles’ safety. Derek had hoped to stay away from them, avoid seeing Stiles fighting so as not to act without thinking, but he simply couldn’t take the wondering anymore. Staying away was like being in purgatory – not knowing whether Stiles was safe or not. He had to see for himself.

“How’s he doing?” Derek asked, frowning slightly as he watched Jackson swipe his claws at Stiles.

“Better than expected.” Deaton admitted, not taking his eyes off of Stiles where he was dancing around Jackson with a look of amusement. “But he’s reckless.”

“And that wasn’t expected?” Derek arched a brow, knowing full well how utterly reckless his mate was on a regular basis.

Deaton sighed and hollered at Stiles, as if doing so somehow answered Derek’s question. “Be careful Stiles!”

Derek saw it before it even happened. He tensed, watching with wide, horrified eyes as Stiles momentarily took his eyes off of Jackson, distracted by Deaton’s words. That moment was all Jackson needed to lunge forwards and slash his claws across Stiles’ chest. Stiles reached up with a shaky hand to touch his torn and bloodstained shirt, as if confused as to what had happened.

Derek was off in a run towards Stiles instantly, Deaton surprisingly close on his heels. His heart was thundering in his chest, drowning out whatever Deaton was shouting to Stiles and whatever Jackson was saying as a frantic apology. All he could see was the red staining Stiles shirt and glistening on his fingertips where he’d touched the wound.

All too suddenly, something in Stiles’ face changed, transforming from shocked concern to cool anger at the sight of his own blood. Somewhere behind him Derek could hear Deaton shouting something, but he just couldn’t make out the words over his own desperation.

Stiles hands balled into fists and he stomped a foot harshly on the ground, narrowing his eyes darkly at Jackson. The force of Stiles’ foot against the ground sent the earth cracking beneath his feet, large chasms forming in the dirt out from where his foot had landed.

Derek felt himself being thrown backwards before he really knew what was happening, his back hitting the ground painfully and making him groan in agony. The sudden impact seemed to jolt him back to himself, however, as when he blinked and caught his breath he could hear Deaton’s shouting clearly and could hear Jackson whimpering somewhere in the distance.

He sat up, eyes immediately fixing on Stiles across the clearing. Stiles who was standing in the center of a sea of magma that had risen from the chasms he’d created. Stiles who was looming over Jackson with a twisted smile filled with contempt as the beta swore on his knees he hadn’t meant it.

Stiles’ face softened into a seemingly genuine smile if not for the fact his eyes remained cold and harsh. He watched as his mate blew a kiss towards Jackson with that unsettling smile, a cloud of eerily glittering dust following his motion and spreading across Jackson’s face. Jackson collapsed almost instantly, crumpling to the ground with a misplaced look of relaxation on his face.

“The dream dragon.” Deaton spoke from beside him, anxiety clear on his features as he kept his eyes fixed on Stiles.

“What’s happening?” Derek demanded, scrambling to his feet only to reaffirm he had nowhere to go.

Stiles and Jackson were entirely surrounded by magma, red hot and molten and impossible to cross.

“What I feared.” Deaton admitted, still keeping his eyes on Stiles as he spoke to Derek. “Stiles has all the power of the dragons he commands. But with that, he also has their ferocity. Think of it like a bitten werewolf’s problem with anger, but amplified a thousand fold.”

“And you let them spar?” Derek snapped, unable to help himself from blaming the man standing next to him.

“I had little choice.” Deaton returned defensively. “Stiles wouldn’t take no for an answer and regardless, he needs combat training if he’s to lead an army.”

Derek watched helplessly as Stiles knelt over Jackson, taking the beta’s sleeping face between his hands with a twisted grin. Jackson’s face became visibly paler, a sickly colour with an almost green tint to his flesh. Slowly, the beta’s face grew hollow and drawn, as though Stiles’ touch was toxic and draining his very essence.

“Stiles!” Deaton shouted once more in vain, shifting his weight in place urgently.

“What’s he doing?” Derek asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“The death dragon.” Deaton replied, his voice wavering in sharp apprehension. “He’s killing him.”

Derek stared at Stiles, unable to do anything. He couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t save him from the agony of coming back to himself only to realize he’s killed a pack member. He couldn’t get close enough to save Jackson’s life. There was literally nothing he could do but watch his mate in dread.

“Help!” Boyd’s voice suddenly cut through the tension, frantic and breathless as he emerged from the tree line carrying Erica’s limp body in his arms. “Someone help!”

Derek watched as Stiles jolted, blinking a few times before glancing down at Jackson in shocked terror and retracting his hands away from the beta’s face. The second Stiles let go, Jackson’s sickly complexion began to improve, his cheeks flushing with colour as his life flooded back into him.

The magma eased away, seeping back into the ground and leaving behind empty chasms where molten rivers once were.

“What happened?” Derek demanded, rushing to meet Boyd in the clearing as he stumbled towards them gracelessly.

“Hunters. They attacked us while we were running.” Boyd rushed, his eyes still fierce with everything he’d witnessed.

“Bring her inside.” Deaton instructed, nodding to Derek who helped Boyd carry her inside when he noticed Boyd limping slightly.


	18. One Step Forward, Two Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got back from vacation so more soon! Loving your comments so far, please keep them coming!

Stiles staggered after the pack as they ushered the injured inside. Boyd reluctantly allowed Derek to help him with Erica and the two men carefully carried her unconscious body into the house.

As the pack rushed out to meet them, beckoned by Boyd’s desperate shouting, Lydia immediately rushed to Jackson’s side, noticing his weakness the moment she stepped out of the house and spotted him. Her eyes darted briefly to Stiles before she turned her full focus onto her lover and bellowed for Scott to help her. Together, she and Scott helped him inside, rushing behind the others carrying Erica.

Stiles watched them as Derek and Boyd placed Erica’s body on the kitchen table just inside the back door to the house. She was breathing, but barely, her chest rising and falling so subtly it was a wonder she was still alive at all.

Lydia and Scott helped Jackson into an armchair, his sickly pallor clearly making Lydia uneasy as she inspected him for any notable injuries. Of course she wouldn’t find any – none physically visible at least – and Stiles shifted almost robotically in weighty guilt.

“Scott, I’m going to need your assistance.” Deaton called to his pupil, pulling him away from Jackson and towards Erica lying unmoving on the kitchen table.

Stiles could see Derek’s eyes darting between him and Erica, clearly torn as to where his focus should be in the whirlwind of panic that had consumed them all.

“Derek, I need you to concentrate. You have to hold her still when Scott and I inject her or she could die.” Deaton’s words rang through the room with heavy truth and Derek’s gaze settled on Erica with a deep frown.

Deaton rummaged around in a nearby kitchen drawer, metallic cutlery clattering together under his quick movements until he finally pulled out a razor sharp knife.

“What’s that for?” Boyd demanded, voice thick with panicky concern for the girl he was still refusing to relinquish his grip on.

Stiles stared at Boyd’s hands, gripped protectively tight on Erica’s left shoulder and forearm, as if unable to relinquish her safety to anyone else. He truly loved her. The realization made Stiles’ stomach churn roughly with guilt. If not for him, Erica would be her usual loud, flirtatious self. If not for his involvement with the dragons, him being pursued by the hunters, Erica would be safe.

This was his fault.

Stiles took a step back, breath catching in his throat as he scanned the room with overpowering remorse. No one seemed to notice his movement, too focused on the unmoving Erica and sickly Jackson to realize he had retreated slightly.

He’d gotten Erica attacked and shot with poisonous bullets.

He’d almost killed Jackson with his own hands.

His problems were slowly destroying the pack.

He took another step back, watching as Deaton cut into Erica’s gunshot wound with the knife he’d found. She jerked, fighting the pain of his slice despite her unconsciousness and Derek latched onto her right shoulder, forcing her to remain still. Isaac assisted Boyd with her left when the larger beta’s injuries made it difficult for him to restrain her alone.

When Deaton finished making the cut he held the wound open, ensuring her healing didn’t seal it before Scott could extract the bullet from within.

Stiles took another step back, staggering through the door that had been left ajar in everyone’s haste. Again no one seemed to notice.

His mind felt like it was running a million miles a minute. He’d almost killed someone. He’d almost killed someone who was supposed to be his family. He’d almost killed someone who was supposed to be his family and liked it.

His gaze flitted to Jackson, looking haggard and in pain with Lydia carefully monitoring his malady. He’d done that.

Another step back.

Something had taken over, snapped inside him and consumed him with murderous rage. Nothing Deaton had taught him had prepared him for such an overwhelming desire to kill. And he suspected further meditation sessions would do nothing to prepare him for when the urge next struck.

What he needed was an expert on dragons. Someone who could help him find the puzzle pieces he was missing and see the full picture. 

He needed answers.

Another step back and he was fully outside, peering at the pack still frantically trying to help Erica and Jackson through the opened door. Steeling himself and allowing his eyes to drift over Derek one last time in melancholy longing, he turned and ran into the wooded preserve.

He knew where he needed to go.

 

* * *

 

 

Five minutes after he began his run through the thick brush a large dragon dropped out of the sky, landing in front of him and stopping him in his tracks. He stumbled, flailing his limbs as he abruptly stopped and tried desperately to remain upright in doing so. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at Kohl who stood starkly still before him, staring down at him with clear disapproval.

“I’m going.” Stiles insisted.

Though Kohl hadn’t said anything, Stiles could feel the beast’s displeasure radiating through their bond in waves. He could feel Kohl’s assertion that he would accompany him and sighed, not wanting to argue knowing full well he would lose.

A few other dragons rustled through the brush, coming to join him where he stood as if silently implying they were coming as well.

“No.” Stiles shook his head, mildly flattered they were so adamant on ensuring his safety. “Stay with the pack. Protect them.”

Stiles glanced back towards the Hale house. Though he’d put some distance between him and the pack, he was sure they’d soon be following him.

He sighed, turning back to face the dragons with a solemn expression as he spoke, “Please keep them safe.”

In a whirlwind all the dragons but Kohl were gone, their wings lifting them above the trees in an explosive gust of wind that messed Stiles’ hair and disheveled his clothes. He watched from the ground as they soared back towards the Hale house, a small well of relief surfacing within him at the sight.

Kohl growled, a rough sound that vibrated through Stiles’ body and brought him back to the present.

“Right.” He nodded to the beast in front of him. “Better they don’t see you.”

Kohl rumbled again in silent agreement before charging at Stiles and disappearing in a flash of light, just as they’d first met. Stiles pulled at the neckline of his shirt, peering down at his chest to affirm there was in fact an oversized dragon tattoo once again coating his skin.

Once he was sure, he took off in a run again, not entirely sure where he was heading but certain he’d be found before he arrived anywhere regardless.

He was right.


	19. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy and don't forget to comment!

The cuffs that bound Stiles’ wrists chafed as he walked, painfully scraping his flesh raw from the friction. His wrists were bound behind his back and bumped across his butt as he trudged through the forest. He refused to show any discomfort on his face, not wanting the men leading him forwards to have the satisfaction.

“Move it.” the man walking behind him spat, pushing his back and making him stumble ever so slightly before he caught himself.

He could feel Kohl bristling through their bond, animal ferocity beginning to seep into his own mind as the man chuckled when he staggered. He pushed it down, focusing on the pain in his wrists to keep him human – something he remembered Derek saying helped keep his wolf in check.

He had no clue where they were. It had taken no more than ten minutes walking aimlessly through the preserve before his captors had descended on him. He’d surrendered to them with little resistance, punching only one man in the face when he tried to needlessly push him to the ground.

The air was cool as he walked, rays of sunlight filtering down through the trees overhead and painting the uneven ground shades of yellow. Stiles studied their path carefully, silently assessing every rock, every tree, every broken twig that could lead him back later. For now he simply allowed the men to roughly force him forwards without complaint.

They walked for what felt like hours without stopping but was probably much shorter of a time. By the time the trees opened into a small clearing the sun was beginning to set over the horizon, casting the open space in an eerie glow that set Stiles on edge.

The man behind him pushed him again when they emerged from the tree line into the clearing, clearly irritated when Stiles paused to take in the odd sight before him. The small clearing seemed to erupt out from a tiny cave – a staggered rock formation that looked too small to be anything more than a coyote’s den from the outside.

The men forced him to keep walking, ushering him towards the cave without a moment’s hesitation. He ducked inside, his vision useless in the black confines of the small space. He wanted to feel in front of him, make sure he didn’t trip on anything hidden in the shadows of the cave, but couldn’t with his arms bound behind him.

He contemplated transitioning to Kohl’s dragon sight as he’d done on the lacrosse field, but didn’t want to reveal his nature prematurely. The men leading him seemed to be nothing more than foot soldiers. He wanted their leader.

All too suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a loud whirring sound. It echoed off the cave walls, sounding oddly mechanical and entirely out of place in such a tiny natural setting. The floor began to move beneath his feet and Stiles tensed, feeling the men flank him on either side to grab his arms in restraint. Stiles let them, feeling his stomach flip as they began sinking down and the whirring grew louder. The blinding darkness became intermittently cut with flashes of light, as though they were speeding by open windows that came and went in an instant, offering nothing but a nausea inducing flicker.

In the sporadic flashes Stiles could see his captors faces. Both men’s expressions pulled into hardened glowers as they stared straight ahead and refused to acknowledge him.

Finally the movement stopped along with the whirring and they were once again standing in complete darkness. Stiles inhaled, somehow thankful for the simple fact he was stationary despite the fact he once again couldn’t see.

A set of doors slid open, reminding Stiles of an elevator if not for the fact they appeared to be made of uneven rock rather than conventional steel. What lay beyond them, however, was even stranger.

The two men flanking him pushed him out of the small space and into a hallway lit endlessly by handing lamplight. The light was fairly dim, but then it wasn’t as if there was anything to trip on in the empty hall. At the end of the hall was another door, this one quite clearly a door – large and metallic and reinforced so as to prove impenetrable.

One of the men raised his hand and pressed it to a screen at the side of the door. The screen flashed under his touch before the door groaned and rose to allow them entrance. They stepped through and Stiles heard the door close behind them, sealing them in and once again making Kohl bristle with unease within his mind.

This side of the door was strange. It was still a cave, of that Stiles was certain, but somehow it appeared filled with natural light as if he were actually outside instead of deep underground. The room itself was enormous, the space immaculately carved with oversized pillars and the floor decorated with shiny stone laid in a detailed pattern. From this main cavern, Stiles could see several halls extend out, twisting in various directions and leading who knows where.

It made him wonder how expansive this underground compound actually was.

The men led him through one of the halls, pushing him roughly each time he slowed to look at something.

After several turns and foreign halls, the men finally stopped in front of a seemingly innocuous door. The man on his right knocked loudly on the door and after a few moments a male voice called for them to enter.

Stiles was practically hauled through the door and into a small room – what appeared to be an office once Stiles managed to get his bearings after the forceful treatment.

“Dismissed.” The man standing behind a desk in the office spoke to the men flanking Stiles, not bothering to look up from whatever maps he was assessing.

The men who’d led him here quickly strode out of the office, closing the door behind them and sealing Stiles inside with the older man.

Stiles surveyed him, noting his dark hair flecked with silver, his pale skin that subtly revealed his age in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His lips were pulled into a thin line as his dark eyes flitted one final time across the map spread out on the desk before pulling upwards to stare at Stiles.

“So.” the man eyed him levelly, skepticism glinting in his gaze. “Come to give someone up?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man. This man, this observant, blunt man was clearly the leader of the men and, Stiles strongly suspected, the compound.

“Myself actually.” Stiles returned, watching the man’s brows rise ever so slightly on his face.

“And who are you?” The man questioned, locking eyes with Stiles as if searching for something.

Stiles let a moment pass between them in tense silence before he blinked, his eyes changing from his human, amber orbs to a distinctly reptilian, slitted iris that couldn’t be anything other than dragon eyes.

“The one you’ve been hunting for.” Stiles announced coolly, as though his inhuman eyes needed some sort of additional explanation.

Stiles honestly didn’t know what he expected the man to do after his declaration. Call a guard? Slit his throat right there perhaps?

What he by no means had been expecting was for the man to calmly offer him a seat and a shot of whiskey.


	20. Dwindling Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!

Stiles rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had left them raw and irritated. They were healing quickly, much more quickly than he was used to healing as a regular human. He supposed rapid recovery was just another aspect of being bonded with one dragon and manipulating the abilities of numerous others. Still, it felt odd to watch his flesh fade back to its normal pale colour as the red sores disappeared in a matter of minutes.

He eyed the man sitting at the desk in front of him who’d freed him from his binds, unsure what to make of an enemy who allowed him any modicum freedom. The man seemed unfazed by Stiles’ prying gaze, simply staring levelly back at him in response.

“Now what?” The man asked him bluntly, taking a shot of whiskey before gesturing for Stiles to do the same.

Stiles frowned, unsure what to say. He hadn’t expected such a civil welcome in the grand scheme of his plans and, in the face of one, he wasn’t sure whether to give an honest answer regarding his intentions. Instead of respond, he simply took the shot of whiskey he’d been offered.

“You don’t know of us.” The man continued, seemingly unfazed by Stiles’ refusal to answer his question.

His words weren’t really a question, as though he already knew the answer, but he still eyed Stiles in search of an answer.

“Should I?” Stiles returned, lips setting into a hard line as he eyed the man unsurely.

“I suppose that depends on whether or not you want the full picture of your destiny.” The man shrugged, folding his hands nonchalantly as he waited for Stiles to reply.

“Why should I believe you?” Stiles frowned, narrowing his eyes harshly.

“I could ask the same of the dragon I know you claim.” The man shrugged, pouring them both another shot. “Why should you believe it over us?”

“Your men attacked me.” Stiles frowned, thinking back to that night with Scott.

“Given what I’ve heard, so has it.” The man shrugged dismissively. “Or are you forgetting how you came to be connected.”

Stiles’ frown deepened. He couldn’t really argue with the man – he and Kohl had originally met when the creature had been attacking the pack. Still, he’d rather take his chances with a murderous reptile than a band of demented hunters.

“So tell me, if you’ve already discounted us, why are you here?” the man spoke, as if reading Stiles’ mind.

“Puzzle pieces.” Stiles returned, almost amused by the sheer confusion that passed over the man’s face before he continued to speak. “I need to know what I’m doing. Why I’m suddenly in the middle of something I would otherwise be an outsider to.”

“You’re here to find yourself.” The man nodded in understanding.

“I’m here to find whoever I need to be to survive.” Stiles amended, narrowing his eyes at the man before downing the second shot.

The man surveyed Stiles carefully, his eyes boring into Stiles’ face as though he could somehow see beyond the flesh and into his mind.

“Let’s walk.” The man finally announced, getting to his feet and gesturing for Stiles to walk ahead of him to the office door.

Stiles did so, pushing out of the chair and opening the door, acutely aware of the man’s presence behind him. The words ‘ _never turn your back on an enemy_ ’ flashed through his mind, still not entirely sure he was safe in the man’s company. Still, he calmly opened the door and strode out into the hall beyond, not a moment of hesitation or wavering confidence in his movements. He needed this man to trust him.

“I still don’t know who you are.” Stiles arched a brow at the man once he was in the hall, watching as he pulled the office door closed behind them.

“Nor I you.” The man returned flippantly, folding his hands together behind his back as he walked.

Stiles eyed him curiously. Every inch of the man seemed to ooze mannered sophistication, yet he could sense an underlying power. Nothing supernatural, simply an unspoken severity that came with earned leadership.

“Stiles.” He offered his name, waiting for the man to comment on his odd title. He never did.

“You may call me Jaecar.” The man returned, strolling leisurely beside Stiles through the halls.

Stiles quickly committed the name to memory, sure being on a first name basis with the leader of the compound would serve him well so long as he stayed.

“So tell me Stiles, what do you know of dragons?” Jaecar asked, as if the topic was the most natural thing in the world.

Stiles remained silent, jaw clenching in defiant refusal to speak. There was no way he was giving some stranger – a hunter no less – inside insights into the creatures he was meant to protect.

“You’ve been bonded to one for some time now, have you not?” Jaecar continued to speak, absolutely unperturbed by Stiles’ silence. “You’re beginning to feel different. More violent. As though a dangerous ire festers within you.”

There was no question, no hint of doubt in Jaecar’s voice as he spoke. The man’s declaration remained level and so absolutely definite that it made Stiles slightly stunned at its accuracy.

“We’ve been connected to dragons for thousands of years. Those of our men gifted enough to possess one in the past struggled with their own nature as well.” Jaecar explained, as if recognizing the unease in Stiles’ silence.

“You can’t _possess_ dragons.” Stiles frowned, the word somehow leaving a horrible taste in his mouth. “They’re neither pets nor slaves.”

“Perhaps. But one could argue control implies possession.” Jaecar nodded, eyeing Stiles curiously.

“How did your men curb their ferocity?” Stiles asked, reverting their conversation back to what he needed to know rather than something he didn’t feel like arguing about.

They walked in silence for a few moments, as though Jaecar needed time to formulate how to reply before he spoke. Stiles spent the brief time memorizing their route, sure he would become hopelessly lost without Jaecar to guide him. Many of the halls looked the same and, though Jaecar seemed to have a purpose in his brisk stride, Stiles was far more concerned with how he would escape if he had no idea where he was.

They came to an abrupt stop. So abrupt in fact that Stiles took two more steps after Jaecar had stilled beside him. He glanced back at the man, curious unease in his eyes as he glanced around the dimly lit hall.

There was nothing around save a large door – the largest Stiles had ever seen. It towered over them, sealed tightly shut and crafted from what appeared to be heavy iron.

Jaecar pressed his hand to an almost unnoticeable electronic pad in the center of the door and the iron monster slid aside, screeching under the weight of its own movement. Stiles glanced at Jaecar who simply motioned for him to enter the room that lay beyond the door. Steeling his face for whatever was about to happen, Stiles stepped cautiously through the threshold, as if the floor itself could somehow reject his presence an murder him where he stood were he not careful.

The room was just as massive as the door implied, an oversized domed space crafted from the natural stone of the cave. What caught Stiles’ attention, however, were the enormous claw marks marring every surface of the empty room, as though some massive creature had been desperately trying to claw its way out.

“Have you ever seen a rabid dragon, Stiles?” Jaecar asked, following Stiles into the room and watching as Stiles surveyed the entirety of the abrasions.

Stiles didn’t answer, simply continued following the lines of the claw marks from one indent to the next as they flowed together on the walls and floor.

“They will literally claw through stone to find something to kill.” Jaecar continued, his voice harboring a dark edge that seemed to imply he was remembering something horrific.

“The men never controlled their ferocity, did they?” Stiles sighed, a barely audible whisper filled with dread.

“No.” Jaecar shook his head solemnly.

“They were killed.” Stiles mumbled, not a question yet still needing confirmation.

“They were.” Jaecar confirmed, watching Stiles intently as his eyes continued to trace the deep scratches littered throughout the room.

“Then what about me?” Stiles frowned, finally turning away from the marks to lock eyes with Jaecar. “How do I survive?”


	21. True or False

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Thoughts?

Stiles had thought Deaton’s training had been brutal but the hunters were on an entirely different level of instruction. There was absolutely no room for failure and every drill was a kill or be killed scenario. He never thought he’d be missing Deaton’s meditation sessions.

Jaecar had told him that his survival was dependent on their training but had remained infuriatingly vague as to why. As far as Stiles could figure, no one in the hunter’s order had survived being bonded to a dragon. Where did that leave him?

He sighed, putting down the bow Jaecar had given him to train. He was bored of target practice. All he could think about was his quickly dimming future and Derek.

“You’ll be punished.” A female voice broke through his thoughts, high-pitched yet firm as she cautioned him.

“I can handle myself.” Stiles shrugged, eyes darting to her inquisitively.

She was petite with pale skin, fair like unblemished porcelain stretched tautly across her body. She wasn’t overly muscular, but she was toned – the kind of definition that came with years of training. Her hair was falling down her back in messy curls of light brown, stripes of sun stained gold weaving in and out of the curls and making her hair look touchably soft. Her eyes were pale green and narrowed fiercely at Stiles, as though disapproving of his abandoning training.

“If that were true you wouldn’t be here.” She rolled her eyes, leaning nonchalantly on a nearby wall and crossing her arms.

“Yeah well neither would you.” Stiles threw back, too consumed with his own thoughts to formulate a smarmier response.

“I live here.” She retorted with an amused smirk.

Stiles smirked back. There was something about her he liked. She reminded him a little of a more sardonic Allison, the same amused glimmer dancing in her eyes as had been in Allison’s when she’d tried to teach him to shoot. At the time he’d had no interest. Now he wished he’d paid better attention.

“So do I. Now.” Stiles shrugged.

It was true, at least for a little while. Until he could figure out how to save the dragon eggs and, hopefully, himself.

“You’re not really trying.” She announced, narrowing her eyes even more disapprovingly.

“To live here?” Stiles arched a brow sarcastically, watching as her lips pursed at his deflection.

“To fight.” She returned quickly, clearly not amused at his humor. “You’re not drawing your bow all the way back and you hesitate before you shoot.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” Stiles frowned, looking away from her and to the ground.

“Yes you have.” She glowered, eyeing him knowingly. “You do it on purpose.”

“Maybe I’m just not as good as you think.” Stiles returned, glaring harshly at her in hopes she would take a hint and walk away.

“Maybe you’re better. And maybe that scares you.” She insisted, as though she had some secret insight into the inner workings of his mind.

She wasn’t wrong. When he drew the bow all he could see were the people he would kill. All he could feel was the animalistic enjoyment that came with that kill. He wanted to do it. To end lives. To see blood simply for the sake of marveling at its colour. It terrified him. He didn’t want the power that came with wielding a hunter’s bow. He had enough power to balance all on his own and even that was beginning to twist him in ways he wished weren’t possible.

He didn’t want to lose himself.

“Look.” She sighed, pushing off the wall and striding over to him with unwavering purpose. “I don’t know why you came here but if you’re not going to at least try to learn, why bother?”

“I didn’t catch your name.” Stiles glared at her unimpressed. Her intimidation was nothing compared to Lydia’s.

“It’s Keres.” She offered shortly.

With that she turned on her heel and disappeared from the training room, leaving Stiles standing in an empty space with a bow in his hand and a frown on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s been three days.” Stiles complained, tapping his foot impatiently as he sat in Jaecar’s office vibrating with unanswered questions.

“That it has.” Jaecar answered, his level gaze fixed on Stiles where he sat fidgeting on the other side of the desk.

“You still haven’t answered any of my questions.” Stiles pressed, increasingly discontent with each passing moment.

“You have yet to complete your training.” Jaecar replied, as though that should somehow be the end of the issue.

“You have yet to tell me why I need to.” Stiles threw back, not taking no for an answer.

He’d spent his time at the compound tirelessly training during the day and secretly searching for dragon eggs at night. With each passing day Kohl was becoming more restless inside him at being caged to Stiles’ skin with no reprieve and Stiles was becoming increasingly short-tempered as he felt his ferocity growing.

Jaecar eyed Stiles for a long time. Minutes passing between them in stark silence as though the man expected Stiles to relent and obediently go back to training. Stiles had never been obedient.

“In the past, members of our faction trained tirelessly in order to hunt vicious creatures far more dangerous than humanity could handle.” Jaecar spoke, finally relenting to Stiles’ persistence. “But it was only the most disciplined, the best trained, who could hope to control them.”

Stiles listened intently, memorizing every word, every minor detail as Jaecar spoke.

“Their willpower had to be honed to impossible levels, abandoning concepts of fear and love, in order to overtake the will of a dragon and control its power.” Jaecar explained.

“I thought you had to be chosen?” Stiles mumbled, confused as to why someone would forcibly overpower a dragon’s will.

“Only one man was ever willingly chosen to possess such power.” Jaecar shook his head, as though actually disappointed by that fact. “He is long dead.”

“A member of your faction?” Stiles arched a brow, biting his tongue about having been chosen himself.

“An ancient king.” Jaecar shook his head. “Long before our faction existed. He ruled over the beasts for many years, far longer than a human lifetime, living among them in an ageless city others were forbidden to enter.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, images of the temple he had been in with Kohl during his trance flashing in his mind. Was he to believe somewhere he’d visited only in sleep was actually a real place?

Kohl rumbled inside him, as if affirming his suspicions, and Stiles fought the urge to flee the compound in search of it.

“So what happened to him?” Stiles asked, curious beyond measure.

“Murdered. Torn apart by the very beasts he swore to protect.” Jaecar frowned, his face pulling into an unimpressed scowl as he spoke.

“You’re lying!” Stiles roared, standing up so fast he knocked the chair he’d been sitting in over.

He could feel Kohl’s unchecked fury radiating inside him, the beast practically clawing at the inner recesses of his mind with murderous rage towards Jaecar. He knew it was Kohl who was insisting the tale was a lie, despite the words spewing from his own mouth in a homicidal tone.

He also knew his eyes were flickering between reptilian slits and his own, amber orbs as he stood glaring at Jaecar. He focused on his breathing, the heavy rise and fall of his own chest in order to curb the rage building inside him.

All he could feel was the urge to rip Jaecar’s head from his body. All he could see was a warm body filled with blood just waiting to be torn open.

He felt claws extend where his nails should have been, hard and dangerously sharp just like Kohl’s. He balled his hands into fists, feeling them pierce into the soft flesh of his palms. The pain did nothing to bring him back – to curb the building ferocity slowly taking hold.

Jaecar eyed his bleeding fists, mild alarm on his face at Stiles’ outburst and the clear animosity emitting from him in unbridled waves.

Stiles leaned forwards, slamming his hands onto Jaecar’s desk. His palms left bloody stains on the dark wood and his claws permanently marred the smooth finish with deep scratches that would be impossible to remove.

“I know you’re lying.” Stiles declared, eyes now fully dragon and rage uncontrollable.

Jaecar said nothing, but a crowd of men bursting into the office and latching onto him quickly broke the silence. Their arms and hands quickly wrapped around his limbs, their grips painfully tight as they worked together to restrain him and drag him from the room.

“I know you’re lying!” Stiles shouted furiously as he was heaved from the room against his will, struggling against the men confining him.


	22. Tangled Fates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Loving your comments! Just curious but where do you think this is heading? I'd love to hear your speculations!

Stiles paced the room he’d been dumped into. It was the same room that Jaecar had shown him days ago. It was far too big to be a prison for one person and the fact they were using it as such was infuriating. He just couldn’t calm down with the deep gashes clawed into the walls and floor, each mark reminding him of the same fury he was barely containing.

He wondered how many hunters had been locked in here. How many dragons had been tortured and killed in these very walls. The thought put him on edge, making him pace with nervous energy.

He needed to calm down.

He inhaled deeply, letting out a long breath to steady his erratic heartbeat. Sinking down to sit cross-legged on the floor he exhaled again, allowing his eyes to close and images of the pack to dance behind them. Deaton’s lessons played like a movie behind his closed lids and he allowed the images to take over, drowning out everything else however temporarily.

He wondered what the pack was doing. How long it had taken them to figure out he was gone. Whether or not they would fill his father in on the situation. What Derek thought of his absence. His mind flooded with unanswered questions. Questions that quickly transitioned from the pack to his condition.

Clearly Jaecar believed that his training would help him control Kohl. But he’d also said that all the hunters who’d controlled dragons had been murdered after losing their sanity. If none had managed to keep their humanity despite accomplished training, what made Stiles any more likely to survive?

Then there was the conflicting information from Jaecar and Kohl. Jaecar believed the dragons to have killed their chosen protector and Kohl clearly believed him wrong. Honestly he was beginning to wonder who to trust in the hurricane of clashing truths.

He exhaled again. Kohl felt strangely calm and quiet inside of him, all things considered. The anger was still there, looming within him like a dark shadow he couldn’t escape, but the urgent need to kill was slowly fading. In fact, he felt downright tired. It was a strange feeling, like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He felt simultaneously awake and asleep. His eyes were closed but his mind was very much alert. He could feel his body, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, yet he couldn’t move a muscle. It was as though he were conscious yet trapped within unconsciousness.

Images of the pack and hunters and Derek melted away, replaced by a familiar tornado of light and colour that made him dizzy and slightly disoriented. He blinked to steady himself after the world seemed to still once more – something that felt odd given he knew his eyes were actually still closed.

Before him stretched the familiar temple Kohl had brought him to during his last trance. It looked the same, the same cool stone beneath his feet, the same large balcony overlooking a forest below, everything untouched by the likes of man.

“Kohl!” Stiles called, turning in circles where he stood in frantic search of the creature. “I know you’re here!”

“ _I am_.” The dragon affirmed, appearing on the edge of the balcony without warning, as if having materialized out of thin air.

“What’s going on?” Stiles demanded, perhaps a little too harshly. Not that he could help it given his newfound supernatural ferocity.

“ _You are channeling the abilities of countless dragons_.” Kohl replied levelly, seemingly calm in the face of Stiles’ fury. “ _The human body was not made to contain such power_.”

“So I’m dying.” Stiles spoke, not a question and dripping with distress.

“ _You are_.” Kohl confirmed, the words echoing between them with absolute certainty. “ _But hope remains_.”

“What hope?” Stiles asked, eyeing the dragon skeptically.

“ _The tale of an ancient king living among us was true._ ” Kohl’s voice was level yet Stiles could sense an underlying anger there. “ _The fiction surrounding his death however, is just that. My kind had nothing to do with his demise_.”

“What does this have to do with my dying?” Stiles frowned.

“ _Just as you were, the king was chosen_.” Kohl explained. “ _As such, my kind ensured his survival knowing the toll such power would take_.”

“You’re telling me he overcame the murderous ferocity?” Stiles asked, a glint of hope sparking in his voice.

“ _As he rose to power the dragons he led forged relics at great personal cost. Vessels that helped to syphon power to manageable levels_.” Kohl answered, making Stiles’ eyes widen with renewed optimism. “ _These artifacts acted as anchors, mystically filtering the emotional complications that came with such a powerful bond_.”

“So the reason the hunters died?” Stiles pressed, beginning to put the pieces together in his mind.

“ _They were not chosen. The will of a human cannot possibly hope to dominate that of a dragon for long. The struggle inevitably leads to insanity_.” Kohl warned, a vicious bite to his voice as he spoke of those trying to dominate him. “ _As the mind fails so too does one’s control. Hunters are either consumed by the power they hoped to possess or torn apart by allies who fear their bloodlust_.”

“And me?” Stiles asked, slightly intimidated by whatever answer awaited him.

Stiles exhaled nervously. He was beginning to feel weak, sickly, as though he had suddenly contracted asthma – or the plague.

“ _You have a potential far beyond that of the imposters who seek to possess you. However all things must come with a price – tis the nature of balance. The more you use our power, the less of your humanity will remain. Without the relics, you will be overwhelmed_.” Kohl’s voice echoed in firm caution.

“Where can I find them?” Stiles asked, pushing the sickly feeling away in hopes of concentrating on the answers he needed.

“ _I cannot answer that_.” Kohl returned, making Stiles frown flatly.

“Seriously? You don’t have like a mystical map that tracks them? Or, I don’t know, a secret cave they’ve been safely kept in all this time?” Stiles drawled sarcastically, inhaling deeply to try and catch his increasingly thinning breath.

“ _When the king fell, his vessels were stolen along with his life. The relics you desire are now guarded by the man whom you are destined to kill_.” Kohl informed, making Stiles’ eyes narrow in discontent.

“Destined to kill? I thought this was a rescue mission for baby dragons not an assassination! The whole point is to save me from murdering people!” Stiles spat back almost hysterically.

With each passing moment he was feeling worse – weaker, queasier – and a dull ache had suddenly decided to settle into his every muscle, throbbing right down to his bones.

“ _There is still much you have yet to learn. Your life and his are eternally entwined and have been long before you came into life. Your paths will inevitably cross regardless of your own desires for peace. This man knows nothing of mercy and thinks little of peace. You must decide what holds more value, your virtue or your life._ ” Kohl replied, his voice dripping with a cryptic wisdom Stiles had no clue how to interpret.

“What does that mean? Why me?” Stiles asked frantically – his pain growing worse with each passing second and making him wince as he spoke.

“ _The answer lies in blood_.” Kohl replied.

All too suddenly the pain erupted into the bloodcurdling, horrendous agony and any hint of Kohl or the temple was abruptly erased from sight. He could feel himself being slingshot back to his body and it felt strange – disorienting yet somehow grounding.

The room he’d been imprisoned in exploded into vision and Stiles froze. Something was wrong. He couldn’t feel the excruciating pain anymore, but he also couldn’t feel himself. Everything felt surreal. His line of sight was much higher in the room than should have been possible and for a split second he wondered if he’d imagined the impossibly high ceilings before he glanced down and noticed his own body lying below.


	23. Close Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon!

Stiles was panicking. His body looked limp and distant from his place watching over it. Hunters had gathered in the room, Jaecar at the helm of whatever they were trying to do. Each time the men approached his body, however, it burst into flames. As if some supernatural defense mechanism while he was in trance.

But he wasn’t in a trance anymore. He wasn’t anything anymore, he supposed. Was it possible to have a panic attack despite not being technically conscious?

Jaecar backed off once more, deterred by the extreme heat of the fire enrapturing his body. The second he was a safe distance away, the blaze extinguished.

Stiles watched in horror as his body began to convulse uncontrollably, writhing and seizing on the floor as if he’d been electrocuted with a million volts. His nose began to ooze deep crimson, the dark blood dripping down his face seemingly endless.

Was this it? Was he actually already dead? Was he simply getting one last glimpse of his physical body before it was gone forever?

Jaecar rushed to his side frantically, shouting something to the other men that Stiles couldn’t hear. He glanced around, realizing for the first time that he couldn’t actually hear anything.

Stiles watched from above as Jaecar pressed his fingers to his neck, the man’s face darkening as he realized that Stiles’ body had no pulse. He barked something Stiles once again couldn’t hear and a few of the men rushed forwards, pulling out charge paddles from a carrying bag.

Jaecar backed away and the men turned on the paddles, pressing them to Stiles’ limp chest as he watched out of body from above. The electric shock rocked through his body and Stiles screamed. Or at least he tried to, only to find he couldn’t make any sound while away from his physical form.

His body remained still and the men gave him a few compressions before charging the paddles and trying again. Once again the shock ripped through his unmoving body and Stiles’ could feel every excruciating second of it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how he could be experiencing so much pain if he was dead but the thought was quickly erased by yet another shock.

The world went black and suddenly he could no longer see himself – or anyone else for that matter. Everything felt heavy and painful and constricting.

“We’ve got him.” An unfamiliar voice announced somewhere in the sightless distance.

He could faintly feel someone touching his face – he could feel his face – and his eyes were sharply overwhelmed by blinding light that swayed side to side and blocked everything else from view.

“Stiles?” Jaecar’s voice echoed through his head agonizingly loudly. “Stiles can you hear me?”

Stiles wanted to respond. He wanted to scream out that he could. That he could hear him and smell the burning flesh that was undoubtedly his chest from the paddles. That he could feel the excruciating pain from the shocks. But he couldn’t move and he couldn’t speak. So he simply lied there in blind, mute silence waiting for something to happen – terrified and in pain.

“Let’s get him to the medical bay before he catches fire again.” Jaecar instructed harshly and urgently.

Stiles felt himself lifted off the hard ground, a weightless sensation that made his stomach churn, before he slipped into absolute unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles knew he was awake before his eyes opened. He could feel his mind rushing through a hundred panicked thoughts all at once. Thoughts about his trance. Thoughts about his pack. Thoughts about the hunters. Thoughts about the dragons. Unsurprisingly every thought was rife with confusion and an exhausted feeling of forgetfulness. The thoughts that burned the most noticeably, however, were those about his own fate. He still had so many questions.

The first of which was where he was when his eyes blinked open and adjusted to the light. Everything was completely foreign. The room was fairly small as his eyes darted around, taking an inventory of everything distinguishable. The lights were dim and clearly florescent and even without his dragon senses he could hear the slight hum that accompanied them being on. He was in a bed, a small one-person cot with a thin blanket covering most of his body. Looking down at himself he understood the need for the blanket – he was completely naked underneath just as he had been after his last trance in the Hale house.

His eyes trailed over the rolling metal tables holding medical supplies and the sink and the small desk stacked with papers. He was in a hospital of some sort. Or at least an infirmary.

He moved his arm to rub his eyes and winced, noticing for the first time the I.V. firmly inserted into his forearm. He ripped it out.

“You’re awake.” A female voice chirped, mild surprise in her voice.

“I think so?” Stiles groaned, flexing his fingers and toes just to be sure before pushing himself up to sit on the bed.

The blanket gathered around his waist, shielding his otherwise naked body from prying eyes. The woman grabbed his face as soon as he was upright, shining a light into his open eyes without warning before humming in approval and pocketing it.

“Watch it.” Stiles grumbled, blinking to make the spots in his sight disappear before narrowing his eyes at the girl writing something on a clipboard. “It’s Keres right?”

“I told you to learn not die.” She replied, clicking her pen closed and turning to face Stiles with a frown.

“You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve ignored.” Stiles shrugged, a pitiful attempt at humor.

“No but I might be the last.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles arched a brow, unsure whether or not he was being threatened.

“You’ve been out for two days.” She returned flatly. “It was touch and go for a while. Ironically it was you dying that allowed us to save you.”

“Dying?” Stiles repeated in clear disbelief.

“Yeah before that you would burst into flames when we tried to get near you. We couldn’t actually treat you until after you were dead.” Keres explained, as though his death were no big deal.

“Well thanks for bringing me back.” Stiles offered monotonously.

He noticed a spare pair of scrubs folded on a nearby rolling table and quickly grabbed them. It only took a few seconds for him to pull on the baggy clothes and another few for him to stand, but Keres still noticed quick enough to push him back down onto the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She demanded angrily, keeping her hand on his shoulder as if she would be able to keep him seated even if he tried to resist.

“Training.” Stiles returned firmly, locking eyes with her with sheer resolve.

“Yeah right.” She scoffed. “You were dead a few days ago. Training should be the least of your problems.”

“If I don’t train I _will_ be dead. Seems like a fairly pertinent problem.” Stiles shot back with a frown. “Besides, I’m fine.”

Stiles once again pushed to his feet, easily escaping from Keres’ grip. Kohl had been clear; any use of his newfound abilities only accelerated his own demise. Until he could find the relics that stabilized his power he had no choice but to refrain from its use.

Still, he wasn’t a fool. Being powerless in a den of hunters whilst attempting to liberate eggs they’d hoarded for thousands of years wasn’t exactly a smart notion. He’d let Jaecar continue his training. Allow the man to believe his instruction was helping to control his power when in fact it was simply affording him a human means of defense.

He supposed it was ironic how he needed the hunters in order to save the dragons.

“You’re not fine. You’re an idiot who goes into trance without knowing a thing about the effects and almost winds up dead because of it.” Keres snapped from behind him as he turned to stride towards the infirmary’s exit.

“Keres!” Jaecar’s voice suddenly barked, silencing them both before Stiles could ask what she knew of his trances. “I apologize. My daughter speaks of things she shouldn’t.”

Stiles glanced between the two of them, noting small similarities for the first time. A similar posture. A similar intimidating glint in their eyes. A similar cut to their jaws. Nothing anyone would notice without prompting, but everything someone could realize once the connection was made.

“Come. Let us speak elsewhere.” Jaecar nodded, gesturing for Stiles to leave the infirmary with him.

He shot Keres one last curious look before allowing Jaecar to lead him out into the hall.


	24. Proper Form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was mostly an explanation / transition chapter that will become more important later on. Enjoy and more to come soon!

“You have a daughter.” Stiles spoke in mild shock, eyeing Jaecar as they walked through the halls.

“Your outburst seems to have stirred some discontent among the ranks.” Jaecar returned, completely ignoring Stiles’ statement in favor of his own agenda.

“Don’t get me wrong I just never pegged you for a family man.” Stiles pressed on, returning Jaecar’s snub with his own.

“Many now want you dead.” Jaecar continued with a solemn frown.

“Yeah well they might find that requires very little work on their part.” Stiles grimaced, abandoning his observations in favor of having an actual conversation.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” Jaecar’s frown deepened in frustration.

“I never do.” Stiles shrugged indifferently.

“Do you know the legend surrounding you and our clan?” Jaecar sighed, shaking his head as they continued to walk.

“No, hum a few bars.” Stiles returned sarcastically with a small smirk.

“The world has not seen a warrior strong enough to possess a dragon for many centuries. Our faction passes the knowledge of such men from one generation to the next in order to better serve one should he arise. After such a long time, many thought such men extinct.” Jaecar replied harshly, clearly annoyed with Stiles’ mockery.

“But here I am.” Stiles sighed flatly.

“Indeed.” Jaecar frowned, eyeing Stiles as if disappointed by that fact before continuing. “There is a lore surrounding a young warrior. One who will rise from necessity and harbor no desire for power. It is this man who will unlock the secrets to the power we have so long sought to harness.”

“Let me get this straight. You think I’m going to act as some magical key to a metaphorical door of wisdom?” Stiles scoffed incredulously. “In case you missed it, I almost died because I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You simply need guidance.” Jaecar nodded calmly.

“Oh. So what you’re saying is the lock comes with an instruction manual.” Stiles drawled, his words dripping with sarcastic annoyance. “Well have you read it because frankly I have trouble assembling Ikea furniture and those instructions are just pictures.”

“Your training will be harder now than ever before.” Jaecar continued, once again ignoring his smarminess. “Many here believe you too dangerous to live. They will take every opportunity to see you perish before your next power surge.”

“There won’t be a next.” Stiles mumbled firmly, his eyes narrowing in conviction.

“One can only hope.” Jaecar nodded in agreement, stopping in front of a plain looking door before pushing inside. “If you’re going to be training seriously, you’ll need equipment.”

“What are these?” Stiles arched a brow, surveying the table completely covered with weapons and armor.

“Weapons. Forged from fallen beasts.” Jaecar replied, tracing his fingers over a breastplate lying flat in front of him. “The arrowheads are fashioned from dragon claws. The only substance strong enough to penetrate a dragon’s flesh.”

“I don’t need armor.” Stiles shook his head in adamant refusal, not wanting to touch anything made from dragon’s the hunters had presumably murdered. “It’ll be hard to move in.”

“It’ll be even harder to move when you’re dead.” Jaecar frowned, picking up a single arrow and pricking his finger with the tip. “As I’ve said, some wont hesitate to kill you. Think of it as insurance.”

Stiles glared down at the unnecessary items spread across the table. Lockers lined the walls of the room and he could only imagine what other weapons filled their confines. Clearly this was some sort of armory and Jaecar had taken special care to pick out an abundance of things for him to use.

He trailed a hand reluctantly over a piece of leather under-armor, glancing at Jaecar who was watching him with rapt focus.

“Fine but I get to choose my coverage.” Stiles shot back, smirking at his own pun as he picked up a small sized piece of armor.

If he was being forced to safeguard himself, he was at least going to do it as minimally as possible.

 

* * *

 

 

“You look like shit.” Keres called as she entered the training room Stiles was using.

“Gee thanks.” Stiles returned, not bothering to turn to face her.

He let loose the arrow he’d been holding and it pierced the target in the white outer ring of the circle.

“Is it possible you’re even worse than before?” Keres frowned, striding to Stiles’ side to peer at the target across the room.

“Give me a break. I died.” Stiles frowned back, lowering his bow and eyeing her disinterestedly.

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be training yet.” She snipped disapprovingly.

“Your father said it’s fine.” Stiles insisted flatly, not sure why it was any of her concern.

“My father is an idiot who doesn’t care if you die.” Keres scowled, glaring warningly at Stiles.

“And you do?” Stiles arched a brow curiously.

A few moments of stark silence passed between them in which they glared skeptically at one another before Keres finally broke their wordless battle.

“If you insist on training at least do it right.” She clicked her tongue, a sound that instantly made him think of Lydia.

Stiles’ frown deepened. He wasn’t trying to do it wrong. But he still hadn’t quite healed from the shock paddles and his death and he was resisting Kohl’s accelerated abilities, not wanting the consequences that would inevitable follow. In the meantime, every move he made was rife with pain he had to work through. The armor he’d been forced to wear was making that pain even worse.

He had on a piece of shoulder armor – a spaulder – constructed with dragon scales and erupting with small spines that made it impossible for anyone to touch his shoulder. The armor was black – though whether that was a dyed color or the coloring of the dragon from which the scales were taken he wasn’t sure. Regardless the armor cascaded over his right shoulder and down his right arm in threatening plates, extending far enough to cover his heart before ending in a leather strap that fastened the piece across his chest. Aside from that he had only one other piece, a streamlined gauntlet covering his left forearm, also black and also made from dragon scales in overlapping plates.

Needless to say he hated them both but if staying alive meant biting his tongue about wearing them then that was a sacrifice he would have to make.

“How?” Stiles eyed her, curious as to whether she would be willing to teach rather than criticize.

“You have to master the forms before you can shoot accurately. That’s why you’re in a training room separate to the other hunters. They’d eat you for breakfast at this point.” Keres offered, circling Stiles almost predatorily. “First, pay attention to your stance. There are generally three stances your body can take when firing. Figure out which you prefer.”

She kicked the instep of his shoe and he staggered for a brief second before catching himself and glaring at her.

“That’s the squared stance. It creates a perpendicular line to the target.” She abruptly grabbed his hips and rotated them so his feet were slightly more angled away from the target. “Closed stance.” She announced before grabbing his hips and forcing them to more outwardly face the target. “Open stance.”

“They all feel weird.” Stiles frowned, not liking the rigidity that came with proper form.

“Only because you haven’t used them enough.” Keres threw back tightly. “That’s where this comes in.”

She reached down to the belt of her loose dress, a piece of fabric tied around her waist to keep her from seemingly wearing a pillowcase, and took it off.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m into dudes.” Stiles arched a brow with a sarcastic smirk.

“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes before roughly grabbing him and tying the fabric belt around his eyes as a makeshift blindfold. “Now shoot.”

“At what? I can’t see.” Stiles frowned.

“Exactly. Your body will determine which stance it prefers without interference from your other senses.” She adjusted his stance so he was aiming in the general direction of the target before taking a step back. “Now shoot.”

Stiles sighed, feeling the hard lines of the bow and the thin outline of the arrow. He inhaled, pulling the bow back and releasing it, letting the arrow fly across the room at the target. He pulled his blindfold off when he heard the familiar impact of the arrow on the board and blinked a few times to get his bearings.

“Not bad.” Keres nodded, eyeing the arrow sticking out of the outer edge of the blue ring, halfway between the center point and the edge of the target.

They did the same thing for the other stances, blindfolding him and making him shoot with only his body as measure of where he was aiming. When they were done Keres studied the target for a few moments before deciding the most accuracy came with a closed stance.

“What’s next?” Stiles asked, already aligning himself into the stance Keres had deemed the best.


	25. Dreams and Drawings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon! Don't forget to comment and sorry for the delay!

Stiles blinked awake, rolling over and nestling deeper into his covers with a groan. He hadn’t had a decent nights sleep since arriving at the compound. Between covertly searching for stolen eggs and his newfound aggression issues, sleep didn’t exactly come easily. To make matters worse he was haunted every night by dreams he couldn’t understand and visions of Derek furiously scolding him for leaving the pack behind. He figured the Derek dreams were the result of their bond – or rather chose to assume as much – and constantly found himself wondering if Derek was having the same ones. Perhaps they were actually meeting in sleep. After all it wasn’t hard to imagine Derek actually reprimanding him for his behavior.

He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself upwards to glance around the room, scowling at what he found. Not only was he on the floor – again – but his room was littered with scraps of paper all scrawled in his messy writing with the exact same image.

“Damn it.” He huffed, standing up and watching as a small wave of papers fluttered back to the floor.

He wasn’t exactly sure why or even how he was drawing in his sleep, but if history were any indication the answers wouldn’t be good. The image was always the same, disturbingly identical regardless of how many times he redrew it. 

No one could know. He had enough grief from hunters at the compound wanting him dead without adding demented supernatural artist to his list of offences. Keres was the only one with any idea of his condition, more because she’d walked in to discover him amidst the drawings than because he’d willingly told her, but even she thought the drawings had passed. He was that careful to hide it.

He grabbed the papers up into crumpled piles, not caring how he ruined them seeing as they were going straight into the garbage regardless. Since his first episode he’d begun taking special care to burn the drawings so no one could find his scribbling. As it was, his small metal garbage can was already half filled with dark ash. He dumped in the crumpled papers and struck a match, watching them burn as he dressed in the armor he was being forced to wear at all times.

By the time he was striding out of his tiny room the papers were nothing more than dimly glowing embers among the already abundant ashes.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re late.” Keres frowned when Stiles strode in, bow in hand.

They’d been training for several days already and as quickly as he was improving, he always wanted to be better – to push himself that extra inch to achieve perfection.

“Sorry.” Stiles returned, his face a hardened mask as he spoke. “Overslept.”

She eyed him skeptically, her gaze dragging across him with meticulous scrutiny. When he noted her eyes pause on his hand he reluctantly followed her gaze, silently cursing at what he saw and wiping his hands on his dark pants in an attempt to banish the soot smeared on his flesh. Soot from having burned the drawings.

“You’ve been drawing in your sleep again.” Keres spoke levelly, no hint of question in her voice, as though she were one hundred percent certain of the truth.

“You’re wrong.” Stiles grimaced, satisfied the soot was gone from his hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him, lips pursed in clear displeasure with his apparent lie.

“Alright so maybe I was.” Stiles relented in an almost silent mutter, his lips in a thin line of discontent.

“Have you told my father?” She asked curiously.

“No.” Stiles immediately replied, a dark undercurrent to his voice as he let loose an arrow and watched it hit the target across the room dead center. “And I won’t.”

He really had improved under her instruction. He could shoot with the best of the hunters now.

“I have something to show you.” Keres whispered after a brief pause of silence.

Stiles lowered his bow and eyed her suspiciously. He liked Keres. He liked her lack of fear around him and her blunt nature. He especially liked how she disliked her father, Jaecar. Stiles often found he had to remind himself that she was still a hunter. That he shouldn’t trust her completely. Trust could get him killed.

“Come with me.” She nodded, turning and quickly heading for the door.

Stiles reluctantly followed, trailing a few steps behind her as she darted from hall to hall like a shadow unseen by all. They made so many turns that by the time she stopped in front of a plain looking door he had no clue where they were.

He eyed the door, a strange energy pulling him towards it like a magnet. There was something about what lay behind it. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew he needed to go inside, to see what lay beyond the simple doorframe.

She glanced around, checking for any prying eyes, before pushing the door open just enough for them to squeeze through the opening. The room was dark, leaving him blind as Keres shut the door behind them.

“What is this place?” Stiles asked uneasily, feeling Kohl thrash around inside him in clear restlessness.

“My father can never know I brought you here.” She vowed, digging in her pocket and flicking a lighter on to dimly illuminate the otherwise black room.

The light was just enough to see a step ahead as they made their way deeper into the room and with each step Stiles winced as the magnetic pull grew more intense, as though being sucked forwards by gravity. After a while Keres stopped, lighting a torch hanging on the stone wall to give them more usable light as Stiles surveyed the room.

In the center of the dimly lit chamber was a scepter, standing upright as if naturally perfectly balanced. It was tall, a narrow staff with an intricately designed head, a strange, dull, transparent stone held in place as if levitating in the center of a metal ring. Several smaller rings hung from the larger one, each inscribed with a language Stiles couldn’t read.

He stood as though frozen, staring at the all too familiar scepter. The same one he’d been drawing in his sleep for days since emerging from his trance.

“What do they say?” Stiles asked, urgently circling the scepter.

Something about it unsettled him, made his heart race and his muscles clench in unexplained urgency. Kohl was roaring inside him, as though feeling a similar reaction to the strange staff.

“No one knows.” Keres admitted with a frown, shifting her weight as if vibrating with nervous energy.

“Why am I drawing this?” Stiles muttered, more of a question to himself than to her.

“There’s a legend surrounding this scepter.” Keres admitted, as though reluctant to do so.

“Of course there is.” Stiles frowned sarcastically. “Is this thing an Ikea manual too?”

“What?” She furrowed her brow in utter confusion before forging ahead. “The staff is supposed to endow whoever wields it with and immeasurable power and knowledge.”

“So why don’t you use it?” Stiles arched a confused brow.

“Anyone who’s touched it has died.” She replied grimly.

Stiles took a large step back from where he’d been leaning in to get a better look at the scepter.

“Thanks for the warning.” He grimaced.

A loud bang sounded somewhere in the distance outside the room and Keres flinched, her eyes darting to the door in clear apprehension.

“We need to go.” She insisted, extinguishing the torch and dragging Stiles away from the scepter.

In a matter of moments they were back in the training room as though there little adventure had never happened, the only evidence of it the thrumming energy still vibrating through Stiles’ body.


	26. Everything Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter has Derek in it so stay tuned!! Comment your thoughts.

Stiles glared up at the ceiling from where he was lying in bed, wide awake despite his best efforts to drift asleep. His mind felt like it was racing a million miles a minute and he tossed and turned relentlessly with unyielding energy.

The compound was silent, everyone else undoubtedly asleep, leaving the halls black and empty.

He rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow and smashing his eyes closed in frustration. All he wanted was to fall asleep. A normal, uneventful sleep not plagued with strange dreams or unconscious drawings or fits of subconscious rage. Just sleep.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply he pushed the thoughts bouncing around his head away and focused on counting backwards from one hundred. By the time he reached forty-two he could feel his eyes getting heavy as sleep drew near. He didn’t remember reaching thirty – falling asleep was funny that way.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles felt strange. He knew he was asleep but somehow he also knew he was conscious. He didn’t recognize which hallway he was in as he walked. Everything was oddly blurry, as though he were in a dream instead of reality. Still, his feet seemed to know where to take him as even in his confusion he couldn’t stop walking.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel the biting cold of the stone floor on his bare feet and he knew he was still in his pajamas – wearing nothing but a loose pair of scrub pants he’d stolen from the infirmary for sleep. No shirt, no shoes, just pants. The no shirt part unnerved him the most. He’d managed to keep his tattoos hidden his entire stay at the compound, never revealing to Jaecar that Kohl was always right there with him or that numerous other dragons were bonded to him via the sigils on his spine. No, that was proprietary information in his mind. A need to know thing that hunters, frankly, never needed to know.

Apparently his sleepwalking self didn’t respect that rule. At least that’s what he thought was happening. Somehow he was navigating a compound he could barely traverse when conscious in his sleep.

He turned another corner and Stiles felt a jolt of vibrating energy ripple through him. That odd pull took over like gravity. A strange weight that drew him forwards as though it was no longer gravity holding him but whatever influences the staff seemed to hold. He could feel it nearby – the scepter’s energy.

His mind screamed for him to wake up, to stop walking. His body didn’t listen.

The door appeared before him in a blur, a shaky haze of colours that almost didn’t register as something familiar save for the fact he’d been thinking about the room all day. His hands raised automatically to push it open, only to find it sealed tightly shut and unwelcome to any visitors. He briefly wondered how Keres had so easily gotten into the room earlier that day but the thought quickly vanished in the face of his palms brutally colliding with the surface of the door, sending it flying into the room with a loud bang. He continued forwards into the room, his body not concerned in the least with the loud crash or the deafening alarms that followed despite his mind reeling at the piercing sound.

The room was pitch black, just as before, only this time he could see. His eyes scanned the room with animalistic suspicion, permanently stuck with Kohl’s supernatural sight despite his best efforts to push it away.

He strode forward, stopping mere feet from the scepter standing in the center of the room. The power radiating off of it felt intense, vibrating through him almost physically – like standing too close to a speaker with too much bass. His hand reached out to the staff, each centimeter of space he closed making the translucent stone hovering in the scepter glow almost painfully brightly.

His mind screamed for his body to stop, Keres’ words echoing through him on an endless repeat.

Anyone who touched the scepter had died.

_He would die._

His body moved on its own, hand clenching tightly around the scepter’s shaft. The stone’s glow grew brighter, a blinding light filling the dark room and drowning out all his other senses. The deafening alarm still sounding disappeared into a brief silence and his vision disappeared into a white glow.

A power coursed through him, emitting from the scepter in a flood of intense energy that buzzed through his body like lightening. As the stone’s light dimmed and his senses returned, he felt more alive, more alert than ever before. The dream-like haze was over, replaced with crystal clear attentiveness that made him exhale deeply to steady his focus.

He felt powerful. He felt electric. But most importantly, he felt angry – murderously so. It was a ferocious power far beyond any bursts of animalistic rage he’d experienced in the past. It should have scared him, made him remove his hand from the staff in horrified revulsion at the murderous intent pulsing through him. It didn’t. On the contrary, it made him grin, gripping the scepter tighter in pleased dauntlessness.

A strange pull grabbed his attention once the power settled inside him, drawing his attention towards one of the walls. He frowned, seeing nothing there but solid stone. Still, the pull was almost painful to resist so he followed it, scepter in hand, until he was standing in angry confusion in front of the wall. He traced his hand over the cool, smooth surface, ignoring the alarm still sounding around him in favor of concentrating on the distinct pull coming from somewhere behind the wall.

He clenched his hand around the scepter tighter, feeling the power radiating from it spike under his determination. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew what to do with the scepter, nor how he had survived its touch, but regardless he raised the scepter high above his head. Behind him he heard a gaggle of hunters race into the room, clearly drawn to him by the deafening alarm. He lowered the scepter, smashing the bottom of the shaft into the floor with inhuman strength. The floor shook from the force, parts of it splitting as though an earthquake were radiating out from where he stood. The stone wall crumbled in front of him and the hunters behind him flew backwards from the wave of energy the scepter emitted at his action.

Stiles stepped through the crumbled wall into the tiny room that lay behind it. The space was barely large enough to be a closet, but the second he stepped inside the pull intensified. Among the rubble was a large chest, the only thing seemingly in the hidden room. He leaned over it, breaking the locks binding it closed with dragon-like strength. The second he pried the lid to the chest open, he knew exactly what had been pulling him so forcefully. Nestled inside the oversized chest were four dragon eggs, each looking ancient and dull from being hidden away for so long. They were by no means small, each about the size of a bowling ball and each with its own unique appearance. One had a thick coating of scales on the shell of the egg, a pale almost sandy colour. Another had an almost translucent shine about it, subtly reflective and swirling with strange flecks resembling the night sky. A third was metallic with spirals carved endlessly into its hard shell. The last was a seamless, smooth gold.

He traced each with his fingers, marveling in their stoic beauty even after so many centuries frozen in time – unable to hatch in captivity.

He had finally found them.

“Back away.” A voice demanded behind him, snapping him out of his reverie and making his face contort in fury.

The anger in him spiked once more and the scepter’s stone pulsed with glowing power in response. He stood slowly from his place crouched over the eggs, never letting go of the scepter, and turned to face the source of the demand.

A fresh group of hunters had entered the main room while he was distracted and now stood, blocking the exit with weapons pointed at him. Without warning he opened his mouth and an ear-shattering screech erupted from his throat like a siren. He watched as the sound sent the hunters clutching for their ears with pained expressions, their weapons clattering to the floor, forgotten in the face of the piercing roar. Without hesitation he raised his hands, electricity sparking through him and around him as lightening began to surge in the confines of the room. The electric bolts flickered through the air, filling the room, and Stiles watched in content as the hunters convulsed under the painful surge before dropping to the floor in charred death.

He could feel the sigils on his back distinctly, hot and charged with pulsing energy as he harnessed the power they gave him. It felt amazing to give into his rage, to allow his bloodthirstiness to reign unchecked as he stole the lives of those who had ultimately stolen his own.

If it weren’t for them he would be with the pack. If it weren’t for the hunters he would be a normal student instead of a supernatural rage machine. They deserved to die. For stealing his normalcy. For stealing the eggs. For everything they’d done.

He wanted to kill them all.


	27. Captivity and Calamity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More real soon!!

Derek was furious. He and the rest of the pack had been confined to the Hale house for far too long – just under ten days if he’d kept track properly. Everyone was restless and angry and beyond frustrated with their captivity, none more so than him.

It hadn’t taken them long to realize Stiles had vanished, even in the chaos that had taken over. Derek had immediately tried to go after him, frantic with worry for his mate. A dragon had stopped him. He hadn’t gotten even ten feet from the house when the beast fell out of the sky and barred his path, refusing to allow him to stray any further from the house.

Needless to say Derek’s wolf hadn’t taken his confinement very well in the face of Stiles’ disappearance. The result had been a colossal battle between Derek and about three of the dragons, ultimately resulting in Derek being forcibly contained to the house with no hope of escape.

As the days passed, he tried over and over to get out. He tried stealth, brute force, supernatural speed. Nothing had worked. For some reason the dragons were adamant the pack was to remain at the house without leaving.

Derek was furious.

He was pacing the living room of the house restlessly, the rest of the pack sitting in stark silence around him, spread out on various couches and chairs in clear discontent.

“There has to be some way to get out.” Jackson growled irately.

“We’ve tried everything.” Scott huffed, glancing around in search of any new ideas.

No one spoke.

“Something’s happening.” Boyd rumbled darkly, glancing outside from where he was leaning on the window frame.

In a split second the entire pack was gathered around the window, clamoring to peer out at whatever was occurring. They all watched wordlessly as the dragons lying sporadically around the perimeter of the house snapped to attention, their heads all jolting to peer in the same direction as if responding to some unheard sound. In one fluid, synchronized motion every dragon was in the air, soaring away from the house for the first time since Stiles’ disappearance.

“Stiles.” Derek muttered, turning and running outside without another word of explanation.

The pack followed him, not bothering to question how he knew, as they all chased after the dragons with inhuman speed.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles strode through the compound with stone cold ferocity. The scepter was clutched in his fist as he walked and the power radiating off of him because of it was frankly terrifying. He’d never felt more deadly, and that was saying something.

Everywhere he walked hunters charged at him, swinging knives, firing arrows and shooting guns. None made contact. The sigils on his spine burned like fire, not painful, just powerful. Each hunter who crossed him fell into death not moments later and Stiles reveled in the trail of bodies he was leaving in his wake.

A woman jumped out at him with a knife and Stiles batted her away like a fly, listening for the satisfying crunch as she slammed against the hallway wall. He grinned as he leaned down over her, taking her pale face in his hand and watching as it grew sickly pallid and hollow as the life inside her gave way to the power of the death dragon. Her flesh melted away under his touch, and before long nothing was left of her but an unrecognizable skeleton.

He grinned in twisted satisfaction at his work, a small laugh escaping his lips as he straightened up to stand in front of her bones. Just as he made to turn away, an arrow whirred through the air and embedded itself painfully in his shoulder. He roared, a distinctly animalistic, dragon sound, as his hand flew to grip the shaft of the arrow protruding from the front of his shoulder. He snarled as he ripped it from his flesh, the wound immediately closing as the arrow was removed.

He glared at the two hunters standing at the end of the hallway glaring at him. The male was black, with long dreads hanging loosely over his shoulders and a cruel sneer on his face. His partner, a female, stood at his side with a similar sneer, caramel skin, and dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

“Big mistake.” Stiles snarled in murderous anger, throwing the bloody arrow harshly to the ground.

A loud crash echoed through the hall, breaking their tense standoff and drawing their focus to the source of the sound. Just behind where Stiles stood, the ceiling had collapsed and through the large, gaping hole of rubble a dragon had descended into the hall, followed closely by Derek, Boyd, and the rest of the pack.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek dropped through the massive hole in the ground into the dimly lit tunnels below. The dragons had all stopped in a clearing, empty and rather peaceful looking, as though the barren space had been their destination the whole time. Before anyone could voice their confusion, however, one of the dragons – the mountain one that looked as though it were made from jagged rock – dove directly into the ground, creating a large hole that revealed the halls below the ground’s surface.

The second they followed the dragon down the hole it was as though time stood still. Mere feet in front of where they landed stood Stiles. Derek stared at him, a mixture of relief and concern hitting him all at once. Relief at seeing him alive and close. Concern at how he looked.

Derek didn’t know what to make of his mate. He was coated in a healthy splattering of bright crimson blood, none of it his considering Derek couldn’t find any obvious wounds on his body. His face was an unsettling icy fury that appeared calm yet smoldered hot behind his fierce eyes. He was in nothing but a blood stained pair of pants – no shirt, no shoes – and was wielding a staff of some sort. Beyond that Derek noted Kohl wasn’t tattooed on his flesh and couldn’t help but wonder where the beast was, slightly angry the dragon had left his mate alone to be covered in blood after spending so much time keeping Derek away from him at the Hale house.

“Stiles.” Derek breathed, his name coming out as a mixture of a relieved greeting and concerned question.

Before Stiles could open his mouth to answer, an arrow whirred through the air and Stiles sidestepped its trajectory. Boyd caught it midair before it could make contact with his chest, snarling at the two hunters who had shot it as his eyes flashed yellow in enraged recognition.

“You killed Erica.” Boyd roared, snapping the arrow like a twig in his clenched fist.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles froze at Boyd’s furious accusation, momentarily assuming the beta was talking to him. That assumption was soon forgotten as the male hunter chuckled darkly and the female spoke in response.

“I hope she suffered.” The woman laughed, as if wholeheartedly enjoying the thought of Erica’s death.

Stiles’ mind was reeling. Erica couldn’t be dead. When he had left she’d been alive. Deaton had been saving her. He had to have saved her.

Boyd’s homicidal roar broke him from his spiraling thoughts, drawing his focus back to the hunters with renewed unrestrained fury. The male hunter fired again, his arrow rocketing towards Stiles’ heart. Boyd caught it before Stiles could, once again snapping it and throwing it away like garbage.

“We should’ve killed you too.” The woman spat at Boyd, clearly not pleased with his sudden interference.

“Give it your best shot.” Boyd growled, cracking his neck as his fangs and claws extended and his wolf sprang forwards.

In a blur Boyd was racing towards the two hunters with murderous intent, slashing at them with ruthless brutality.


	28. One More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? More soon!

Stiles watched for a few moments as Boyd attacked the hunters, his claws leaving notable and deep gashes on their bodies as he relentlessly slashed at them. Once he was satisfied Boyd could handle himself and the hunters would undoubtedly meet their deaths, he turned to continue down the hall as he’d been doing before the ceiling collapsed to reveal the pack.

“Stiles!” Derek called after him, noticing almost immediately as he strode away.

Stiles ignored him. Somehow he didn’t want to see Derek, despite so many days longing to be reunited. He didn’t want to hear reason or feel love or be weakened, all he wanted was blood and all Derek was was a barrier to that.

Stiles pretended not to hear him or notice his presence as Derek chased after him down the hall, leaving the rest of the pack to ensure Boyd would be all right. After a few moments of walking beside him, however, Derek decided to put a hand on Stiles bicep to stop him from walking away. Stiles scowled, narrowing his eyes at his mate in irritation at having to acknowledge his presence. The sigils on his back burned white hot with power as his body erupted in flames, forcing Derek to release his grip with a startled curse as his hand quickly healed from the inevitable burn.

The second he let go, his body extinguished, the flames subsiding to reveal his usual pale flesh. He turned away from Derek coldly and continued on down the hall without a word.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek trailed after Stiles, maintaining a safe distance between them without allowing him to stray from view. Something was very wrong. Gone were Stiles’ happy dimples and good-natured yet biting sarcasm. All were replaced with an icy, terrifyingly murderous demeanor that simply didn’t match his mate’s real personality.

He watched as Stiles strode domineeringly through the halls, noting every small movement, every odd tick that was distinctly un-Stiles. The way his movements were rigid, as if perfectly calculated and restraining deadly force. The way his face was set into a hard, unfeeling mask of anger. The way his tattoos seemed to glow with an unspoken power and his muscles flexed with each movement.

A man leapt out from around a corner, lunging at Stiles with vicious aggressiveness. Before Derek could even make a move to protect him, Stiles had the man pinned to the wall with only one hand – his other still clutching that odd staff.

“Where’s Jaecar?” Stiles demanded in a harsh growl.

The man narrowed his eyes defiantly and after a moment of tense silence Stiles scowled, his body erupting once more in flames and causing the man to fall into death. Derek had no idea how to react to the sight of it. His usually smiling, goofy mate had just murdered someone as nonchalantly as he normally changed television channels when bored. How was he supposed to process that?

Frankly, how was he supposed to process any of this? Stiles wasn’t himself. Kohl was nowhere in sight. A strange glowing staff seemed to be permanently fixed in his mate’s hand. And now Stiles was murdering people on a whim. He honestly had no clue what was going on.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles dropped the burnt man, watching his body slide down the stone wall of the hallway never to move again. Somewhere in the back of his mind – perhaps what tiny part of him had yet to be touched by the scepter’s power – he knew he shouldn’t be enjoying the carnage and suffering he was causing. But the anger was simply too overwhelming, too consuming to resist.  And, frankly, he didn’t want to resist.

He turned away from the charred body at his feet and carried on towards Jaecar’s office, ignoring the distinct scent of burning flesh. He needed to finish this, to put an end to it all. He wondered how many people he would have to kill before Derek stopped trailing behind him in anxious concern. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

In true hunter fashion, Jaecar was waiting in the hall just outside his office, as though he had known Stiles would come for him. He was clad in armor, pieces of which Stiles recognized as distinctly dragon – fashioned from murdered beasts and impervious to almost every weapon.

Good thing Stiles wasn’t using weapons.

“I should have let them kill you.” Jaecar bit harshly, pointing his gun at Stiles’ head from his place across the hall.

“It would have only brought your death sooner.” Stiles retorted darkly, not moving closer to the man who’d taken him in.

Jaecar fired his gun, the bullet hurtling towards Stiles’ forehead with a deafening bang. Stiles watched it as if in slow motion as the bullet froze solid midair, the sigils on his back burning with that familiar pulse of power. Where the bullet should have hit his forehead and killed him, it instead splintered into a million tiny fragments of ice – as though a delicate piece of glass had been tossed gently at his face.

“Ouch.” Stiles frowned, dripping with dark sarcasm.

“That scepter.” Jaecar spoke in a quiet whisper, eyes darting to the staff in Stiles’ hand.

“You know, Jaecar.” Stiles grinned, a dark twisted expression. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Stiles could feel the claws where his human fingernails should have been, hard and lethal and itching for blood. He extended his arm to the side, feeling the stone wall against his claws as he slowly strode forwards towards Jaecar. His claws left deep scratches in the stone as he walked, a disturbing trail that marked his advance.

“I can hear your fear.” Stiles continued, his grin darkening in amusement.  “I can smell it.”

Behind him he could hear Derek mumbling his name, trying to pull him back to his humanity, but all he could focus on was Jaecar’s erratic heartbeat and his desire to make it stop. Violently.

Jaecar desperately shot at him as he approached until his gun made a hollow click that signaled it had been emptied of bullets. By that time Stiles was standing mere feet in front of him, a deep trail of claw marks behind him on the wall and a furious expression on his face at being shot at.

He retracted his claws from the wall, clenching and unclenching his fingers as if to emphasize their deadliness to Jaecar. The man swallowed and Stiles smirked in contentment, deeply inhaling the satisfying scent of his fear.

“That staff,” Jaecar glanced briefly at the scepter in Stiles’ hand once more before locking his scared eyes with Stiles’. “What do you see?”

Stiles tightened his grip on the staff, scowling at Jaecar’s question. He remembered Keres telling him it endowed the wielder with knowledge – knowledge the hunters wanted. It was almost amusing how misguided they were in their beliefs. He had no visions, no magical tomes whirring through his mind, no sudden answers to all the questions he had. Nothing. He simply had power and the overwhelming desire to use it.

“I see your death.” Stiles returned icily, flexing his clawed fingers in front of his chest and watching as Jaecar’s eyes widened in panic.

“You were supposed to help us. To unlock power.” Jaecar spoke, as if reminding Stiles of his supposed purpose would snap him out of his murderous tirade.

Without warning, without so much as a twitch in Stiles’ cool mask of anger, his clawed hand plunged into Jaecar’s chest. Stiles grinned as the man’s breath hitched, realization spreading over Jaecar’s face as he glanced down to see Stiles’ hand protruding from his chest.

“You should have read the manual.” Stiles growled bitterly, a stark reminder of their previous conversation about Stiles’ purpose with the hunters all those days ago.

“Stiles.” Derek’s words broke through the tense sounds of Jaecar’s uneven breath and pained gurgling.

Stiles ignored him, keeping his eyes locked with Jaecar’s.

“Stiles this isn’t you.” Derek pressed on, clearly not willing to give up. “If you kill him you’ll regret it later.”

“I’ve already killed everyone else.” Stiles scoffed darkly. “One more makes no difference.”

He flexed his hand ever so slightly where it was embedded in Jaecar’s chest and the man cried out in obvious pain.

“I know from experience that isn’t true.” Derek frowned, expression pulling down into regret as he took a step towards Stiles.

Without a word Stiles tore his hand from Jaecar’s chest and the man collapsed to the ground, eyes still open in pained shock yet hollow and lifeless. Stiles’ hand was coated in a think layer of bright crimson, the unsettling colour dripping down his forearm and speckling the floor with unsettling globs of red. Jaecar’s heart was clenched in Stiles’ fist, his claws digging into the organ as if to ring the blood from it.

“I guess we’ll see.” Stiles spoke darkly, watching the blood trailing down his arm with furious concentration.

A shrill, piercing shriek broke through the heavy hush and Stiles’ eyes darted to the end of the hall. Standing with an expression of pained, broken horror several feet away was Keres, her eyes filled with tears as she stared at Stiles and the dead body of her father.


	29. Unmovable Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Please comment and tell me your thoughts, loving all your comments so far!

Stiles watched as Keres turned and ran. He could have killed her, easily ended her life before she could make it more than a few steps. He didn’t. Perhaps it was what little pieces of his conscience were left telling him to spare her. Perhaps it was Derek’s worried pleading for him to stop. Perhaps it was some small part of him that still saw her as a friend he couldn’t murder.

Whatever the reason, he simply watched in stark silence as she fled, her face contorted in distraught sorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek watched Stiles intently, eyes surveying him with heavy concern. He was simply standing there, unmoving and coated in blood and filth. His clothes were gone, disintegrated to ash from his repeated engulfment in flames and replaced by a healthy coating of dark soot. In one hand he held the scepter, in the other he clutched the human heart he’d ripped from a man’s chest not moments before.

Stiles looked almost frozen, the only evidence he was still alive the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He had allowed a girl to escape unharmed, something Derek wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. Had he simply deemed her not a threat? Was there a reason only she was spared from his bloodthirsty rampage?

“Stiles?” Derek spoke, softly and cautiously as he inched towards him.

Stiles didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. It was almost as though he couldn’t hear Derek had spoken. Almost. The small, nearly imperceptible twitch in Stiles’ brow was the only indication he had registered Derek’s voice.

“Stiles. It’s ok.” Derek continued, taking another step, and another, until he was standing directly beside his mate.

Stiles remained frozen.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles was freaking out. Everyone was dead. He’d killed everyone, every hunter in the compound. That alone should have been pushing him over the edge. But surprisingly, his massacre wasn’t the cause of his panic. No, it was something far worse. He could still feel it, the overwhelming desire to kill, to spill blood and marvel at its color. The problem was, the only people left to kill were his pack.

He could hear Derek’s hesitant footsteps as he approached, slowly and carefully. All he wanted to do was shout at him to stop. To run as far away as possible before he couldn’t restrain himself anymore. But his brain was too preoccupied with preventing Derek’s murder to form words.

He could already feel his body resisting his brain, fighting the logical side of him that still recognized Derek as his mate – as someone he loved. It took every inch of his will to stay still, frozen with tensed muscles that hurt to restrict. He focused on his breathing, keeping it steady as Derek stopped beside him and spoke his name.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move or Derek would die.

He felt Derek’s large hands brush against his, hesitantly at first before encasing his bloody hand completely. Slowly, Derek pried his fingers open, removing the warm, sticky heart from his grip with gentle care – as if afraid Stiles would break if he moved too fast.

It was almost amusing really, how close Derek was to death without knowing it and yet still concerned with Stiles’ fragility.

Stiles allowed Derek to take the heart, not moving and refusing to allow himself to look at him. He felt on edge. A large part of him wanted to slash Derek’s throat open, and that terrified him. If he moved, if he allowed himself to acknowledge Derek at all, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop himself anymore.

He couldn’t move.

 

* * *

 

 

The heart felt warm and strange in Derek’s hands but he was too distracted by Stiles’ odd demeanor to really focus on it. His mate’s face looked pained, and it set Derek’s wolf on edge.

Lydia rounded the hall corner in a frantic run, stopping dead in her tracks when she caught sight of Stiles. The rest of the pack was close behind her, stopping as she did. Derek glanced at them briefly before returning his attention to Stiles. Their faces looked tired, concerned and more than a little on edge. Scott and Isaac were supporting Boyd’s weight on either side of him, the beta having clearly reinjured his leg during his fight with the hunters. Still, based on the mournful yet satisfied glint in his eye it was clear Boyd thought the injury had been worth it.

“What happened?” Scott demanded, eyes widening at the sight of Stiles, nude and coated in soot and blood with a pained look on his face.

Derek said nothing, not even sure where to begin an explanation in the face of everything he had just witnessed.

“That staff.” Lydia mumbled, an unsure yet frenzied expression darkening her usually cool features.

“What?” Derek asked, eyes darting away from Stiles and back to Lydia with urgent questioning.

“I’ve seen it before.” Lydia rushed, eyes narrowing as she glanced between the frozen Stiles and the odd scepter.

“Where?” Derek pressed with a deep scowl.

“In my research.” Lydia explained, taking a tiny step towards them before Jackson put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “When I was working with Deaton to find a solution. I saw it in a tome.”

“So?” Jackson arched a brow at her, clearly apprehensive of the entire situation.

“So it’s dangerous.” Lydia replied firmly, eyes never leaving Stiles.

“That guy seemed to think it would show him something.” Derek frowned, glancing unsurely between Stiles and Lydia as he gestured to the dead man at Stiles’ feet.

“There are two legends surrounding that staff.” Lydia offered with a concerned knit in her brow. “The first says it will endow the wielder with immeasurable knowledge and wisdom. The key to unlocking a limitless power.”

“And the second?” Derek asked, all too sure he never wanted to hear the answer.

“The wielder will have unmatched power. But with it, unmatched bloodlust, an insatiable need for death that will ultimately culminate in his own.” Lydia spoke, a solemn whisper heavy with truth. “If true, the staff amplifies the abilities from his dragon bonds to epic levels. The longer he holds it, the sooner he dies.”

Derek didn’t need to hear anything more, he lunged forwards, desperately grabbing for the staff. Stiles moved. His arm lurched to the side, sweeping the staff out of Derek’s path and leaving him to grab at nothing but air. His head moved next – almost robotically – turning to stare at Derek with furious, narrowed eyes that held none of the amusement or love Derek had become so accustomed to.

“Stiles. Give me the staff.” Derek pressed, leaning in to simply take it from him.

As though something in Stiles snapped, his empty, blood coated hand flew out towards Derek, colliding with the center of his chest and sending him flying backwards. Derek caught himself before he could fall over completely, glancing down at his chest to find his shirt stained with a very distinct bloody handprint.

Derek felt his wolf roar to life inside him, claws and fangs extending and eyes glowing in response to the threat. He needed to get that staff. He needed to save Stiles, even if it meant hurting him a little first.

The rest of the pack followed suit, their wolves surging forwards in response to their Alpha’s shift.


	30. Dangerous Vulnerability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon!

Derek had never seen Stiles like this – ruthless, fearless in the face of a battle. The entire pack was rushing him and he didn’t even seem to register the danger.

His movements were calculated, patient and intense. Not a single motion was wasted. There was no flailing, no erratic jumping or fidgeting – none of Stiles’ usual behavior or personality visible in the slightest. All Derek could see was a cold, calculated killer out for blood.

He watched as Stiles swatted Scott across the hall, his expression never softening into one of recognition or remorse. The pack was hesitant with their attacks, clearly conflicted about hurting their friend regardless of his mental state. Even Jackson seemed cautious, as though remembering his near death experience with Stiles every time he went to attack.

Derek felt like he was watching everything in slow motion.

He saw with excruciating detail how Stiles smashed Jackson’s head into the stone wall, leaving the beta to collapse into unconsciousness from the force. How he intentionally stomped on Boyd’s injured leg, sending a sickening snapping sound echoing through the hall as the beta crumpled with a pained roar. How when Isaac tried to rush him, Stiles pinned him to the wall with icicles speared through both his palms and one of his thighs.

By the time it was only himself and Scott left to face him, Derek had no doubt how the battle would end. If given the opportunity, Stiles would kill them.

Scott ran at Stiles and Stiles sidestepped him, ducking when Scott tried to swipe him with his claws. Before Derek even registered what was happening, Stiles’ hand was wrapped around Scott’s throat and the beta was on his back on the floor, coughing from the impact. Stiles loomed over him, eyes narrowed murderously at his friend. He lifted the scepter, eyes narrowing even further as he prepared to plunge the staff into Scott’s chest.

His body moved before he knew what he was doing. All he could visualize was Stiles’ reaction when he came to his senses to find he had murdered his best friend. One second he was watching Stiles looming over Scott, scepter poised for the kill, the next he was jumping in front of the beta and making strangled noises as the scepter protruded from his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice called to him, uneven and pained as he stared up into his eyes.

Stiles didn’t move. It felt as though someone were squeezing his heart in a tight fist, painfully wringing it of blood though no one had touched him. The pain was almost unbearable, and yet it felt strangely cleansing. The piercing bite of agony drew his conscious mind to the forefront of his body – cutting through the haze of bloodlust and allowing him a moment of clarity. A moment that made him sick.

Derek was kneeling at his feet, staring up at him with pleading eyes and brows knitted in pain. Stiles was gripping the scepter, the end lodged into Derek’s torso, small lines of blood dripping from the wound.

“Stiles.” Derek repeated his plea, shaky and strained as he fought through the pain.

Stiles’ brow knitted in strained confusion. He was waging an inner battle, with Derek as the inevitable casualty. Part of him saw the blood and wanted more, wanted to twist the staff and revel in Derek’s anguish as the life left his body. Another part, the part he was desperately trying to cling to, fought to remove the scepter from his mate and tend to his wounds. As it was, he was simply frozen, struggling with which piece of himself would gain full control.

Derek coughed, a few drops of blood spurting from his mouth and coating his lips in bright crimson as he repeated Stiles’ name.

The pain in Stiles’ chest intensified and his face contorted into absolute horrified realization as Derek’s nose began leaking a thick crimson trail to match his lips. As though the scepter were suddenly burning him, he ripped it from Derek’s torso and dropped it.

His rational mind regained control, banishing the anger in favor of loving concern and regret.

The staff clattered against the stone floor, the sound breaking the otherwise deathly silent hall, and Stiles dropped to his knees to face Derek. He took Derek’s face in his hands, apologizing between panicked pants and heavy tears as he put pressure on the wound. Derek said nothing, simply leaned forwards, resting his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder in silent forgiveness and relief.

They stayed like that for a long while, simply reveling in each other’s company and the silent relief that came with their safe reunion.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles repeated for the thousandth time in a quiet whisper.

“I love you.” Derek responded, his lips curving up into an ever so subtle smile that made Stiles’ heart swell.

By the time Derek’s wound was nearly healed, Stiles was wavering. His mind felt unfocused and dizzy.

He helped Derek to his feet, relieved when his mate could stand without support. It only took a few seconds of standing for Stiles’ eyes to blur and the room to spin. He felt himself falling before he really registered it was happening, Derek’s strong arms catching him before he could hit the ground.

“What’s happening?” Derek questioned with frantic concern.

Stiles didn’t have enough energy to answer, not that he knew how to answer regardless. He simply closed his eyes and felt his head lull back over Derek’s arm where he was being held upright, certain they were quite the sight – Derek with his half healed wound and Stiles naked with a thick coating of soot and blood.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek was panicking. He hadn’t seen Stiles in far longer than his wolf was comfortable with and now his mate was unconscious in his arms. He glanced at Lydia who was helping Jackson get oriented now that he was beginning to wake up. She locked eyes with him and without needing a word of instruction pulled out her cell and dialed Deaton.

Everyone looked terrible. Jackson looked groggy and confused. Scott was helping Isaac down from where he was speared to the wall. Boyd was setting the bones in his leg with a pained expression to make them heal faster. Hell, even he was in a dull pain from his wound, still healing, his shirt drenched in his own blood.

None looked worse than Stiles, however, and that alone terrified him. His mate looked pale, his face scrunched in pain despite his unconsciousness. He was soaked in blood and covered in dark soot, looking dangerous and disheveled and yet somehow vulnerable.

“Deaton’s waiting at the clinic.” Lydia called, shoving her phone back in the pocket of her skirt and helping Jackson to his feet.

Derek nodded, holding Stiles slightly tighter in a cradle carry as he glanced around at the rest of the pack.

“Scott, find Kohl.” He instructed, sure the dragon was somewhere in the compound. “We might need him.”

Derek hated to admit it, but the dragon was an asset. The pack was already on the verge of exhaustion, if a hunter tried to attack them at this point they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not to mention, close proximity to the beast might give his mate a better chance of waking up.

“Lydia, you help Jackson.” Derek continued, not that needed to tell Lydia to do so.

He glanced at Isaac, noting his puncture wounds were all but healed save for a few minimal scratches.

“Isaac, help Boyd walk and call Allison. Her father can help clean this place up before someone finds it.” Derek ordered.

Everyone set to work with their assigned tasks leaving Derek to his own – carrying Stiles out of the compound to Deaton’s.


	31. Ticking Clock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! Don't forget to comment your thoughts, they make me write faster!

Stiles felt weak. He’d woken up in Deaton’s clinic to an IV in his arm and a solemn frown on the vet’s face. He’d ripped out the IV almost immediately – the frown was slightly more permanent.

Derek was standing a few steps behind Deaton, watching as the vet finished examining him. Neither of the men looked happy and, frankly, neither was Stiles. His butt was numb from sitting on the metal exam table for so long and every part of his body was in pain – a dull ache that refused to abate.

He’d been filled in on the whereabouts of the rest of the pack when he’d awoken. Boyd and Jackson were in the waiting room of the clinic, bandaged from Stiles’ assaults and resting far enough away to give him some privacy. Still, Stiles was sure they could hear every word that was being said regardless.

Allison and her father were at the compound cleaning up after Stiles’ massacre. Deaton had warned them not to touch the staff, so Chris had sealed it inside a large crate – something Stiles was impressed with considered he couldn’t have lifted it by hand. As it was, the staff was locked away somewhere only Chris and Deaton knew the location.

Scott had found Kohl fairly quickly after Stiles had slipped into unconsciousness. The dragon had been guarding the eggs as Stiles had instructed. It had taken a while but Scott had finally convinced the creature to allow him to approach. Now the eggs were inside the clinic and Kohl, Scott and the rest of the dragons were protecting the exits. Again, within hearing distance Stiles was sure.

Lydia and Isaac were sitting on the floor of the waiting room flicking through old tomes to try and find the book with the scepter. She had insisted on doing it there in order to keep an eye on Jackson. Part of Stiles wondered if she really just wanted to make sure Stiles didn’t finally accomplish murdering him. Third time’s the charm after all.

“You’re dying.” Deaton spoke, firm yet with an undercurrent of distress.

“Don’t sugar coat it or anything.” Stiles returned, heavy with sarcasm as he arched a brow at his mentor.

“Stiles, this is serious.” Deaton pressed with a frustrated huff.

“So I’ve been told.” Stiles mumbled with pursed lips and a scowl.

“Wait. You knew about this?” Derek demanded incredulously, stepping towards Stiles with a dismayed expression. “You knew you were dying?”

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugged, averting his eyes from Derek to avoid seeing whatever sorrowful look was on his features. “But I’m alive now so no harm no foul.”

“Stiles.” Derek growled, clearly aggravated with his secrets and irresponsibility.

They still hadn’t had a chance to discuss Stiles’ leaving in the first place. Now Stiles was sure the conversation would be much longer and much darker than before.

“Look it’s not a big deal. I just have to find these relic things and I’ll be fine.” Stiles sighed, fixing Derek with an expression that silently urged him not to overreact.

“What relics? Where do we find them? What do they look like?” Derek rushed, clearly ready to go retrieve them single handedly if need be.

“That’s the thing…” Stiles trailed off with a grimace, unsure how to announce he had none of the answers.

“Stiles! You can’t be serious!” Derek barked in exasperation.

“I have time.” Stiles insisted. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Except you don’t.” Deaton interjected seriously.

“What?” Stiles spluttered, turning his full focus to Deaton.

“Lydia’s looking now to be sure but that staff affected you more than you think.” Deaton explained, eyeing Stiles knowingly.

“You’re wrong.” Stiles insisted, refusing to back down.

“You’re weak and in pain and your vitals aren’t exactly stable either.” Deaton frowned, clearly annoyed despite his cool mask.

“I’m fine.” Stiles scowled.

“Shut up.” Lydia’s voice suddenly instructed in a shrill chirp.

She strode into the room with her usual unbreakable confidence, an oversized book in her hands and Isaac trailing behind her. Stiles frowned but said nothing, not wanting to anger her any more than he already had. He was headstrong not stupid.

“I found it.” Lydia announced, setting down the book on the end of the operating table Stiles was sitting on.

“I helped.” Isaac chimed in with his usual snarky tone. Lydia ignored him.

“The scepter amplified your connection to the dragons. It made you stronger and more vicious.” Lydia began.

“I figured that out from all the power and, you know, me killing everyone.” Stiles frowned.

Lydia fixed him with a sharp glare and Stiles fell back into silence.

“Stiles. This isn’t a joke.” Derek warned, face set into a hard mask.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? In case you haven’t noticed I can handle myself.” Stiles huffed, folding his arms defiantly.

“What happened to _sarcasm is my only defense_?” Lydia frowned accusingly.

“I got an army of dragons, mystical power, and a little bit of muscle mass. I have new defenses.” Stiles shrugged with a smarmy grin.

“What you’ve got is a ticking clock and no answers.” Lydia threw back.

“I got my answers days ago.” Stiles argued. “Humans weren’t built to contain the power I have. The more I use it the more of my humanity is destroyed until I eventually die.” Stiles smirked haughtily, satisfied with finally knowing something before Lydia. “Good thing I still seem human.”

“Oh so I guess you already know that holding the staff accelerated your death. That much amplification of your power for only a short time equated to using your regular power for a month without stop.” Lydia snipped with pursed lips and a deep scowl.

“Wait. What?” Stiles spluttered, glancing around at everyone in the room in search of some hint of joking or sarcasm. There were none.

“Like I said.” Deaton sighed, shaking his head. “You’re dying.”

“But – no.” Stiles shook his head, denial setting in like a ton of bricks. “I could touch the staff. Everyone else who did died. I’m alive.”

“For now.” Isaac mumbled snarky as ever.

“How is Derek alive then? He had the scepter stabbed through him!” Stiles’ eyes flitted to Derek, a mixture of questioning and horrified realization in them.

“To be honest, the only reason he’s alive is because he’s an Alpha.” Deaton admitted grimly. “Even then, if you hadn’t removed the staff when you did he most certainly would have died.”

“I almost killed you!” Stiles exhaled in a panic.

“I’m fine.” Derek shook his head reassuringly. “Focus on saving your own life.”

Before Stiles could slip into a full-blown panic, the shrill chime of a phone broke the conversation and drew everyone’s attention to Derek. Stiles arched a brow; amazed Derek would bring a cell, let alone leave it on ring during such an intense conversation.

“It’s yours.” Derek sighed, pulling the phone from his pocket and glancing at the caller ID. “You left it at my place when you left and I’ve been keeping your dad in the loop.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinked, somewhat surprised his dad was up to speed. “He knows I’m back?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want to worry him when you were unconscious.” Derek shook his head before answering the call. “Sherriff.”

Stiles watched as Derek’s face darkened, his jaw flexing as he listened to whoever was on the line. His eyes flitted worriedly to Stiles before he exhaled and put the call on speakerphone.

“Dad?” Stiles spoke, confused by Derek’s expression.

“I’m sorry. Your father can’t come to the phone right now.” A venomous female voice drawled.

“Keres?” Stiles exhaled, eyes widening in fear. “Where’s my dad?”


	32. The Meaning of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“You killed my father.” Keres ground out, her voice echoing in Stiles’ head much louder than should have been possible via speakerphone.

“He was a bad man.” Stiles returned, voice shaking as he spoke. “Even you thought so.”

“You’re a fool.” She snapped bitterly. “My father was a great man. But he needed someone to stay close to you.”

“What?” Stiles blinked, his eyes narrowing at the phone as though she could somehow see his glower.

“You honestly thought he trusted you enough to let you roam the compound without supervision?” She scoffed and Stiles’ glower only deepened at the sound. “I was his man on the inside. I got close to you and relayed all your movements to him.”

“You trained me.” Stiles mumbled in disbelief. He didn’t know why, but the realization of Keres’ betrayal somehow cut him.

“I did what I was told.” She spat back, her voice piercing and incensed. “He told me to train you. He told me to monitor your dream drawings. He told me to show you that scepter. If you thought we were friends you’re more naïve than I thought.”

“Where’s my father?” Stiles demanded, done listening to her.

“He’s right here.” She returned icily, and Stiles could practically see her ruthless grin. “Now give me the eggs.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Stiles questioned with a nervous frown.

He glanced up from where he’d been glaring at the cell in Derek’s hand, his eyes flitting across everyone in the room. Jackson, Boyd and Scott had joined them, all gathered in the doorway and staring at him with worried expressions filled with sympathy.

“Stiles.” His father’s voice rang through the room, filling the silence with his hesitant tone.

“Dad? Are you alright?” Stiles raced through the words so fast it was a miracle anyone could understand him. His father’s voice was level, but Stiles could hear the fear just under the surface and it made him sick.

“Stiles. I’m sorry I didn’t get involved in your world sooner.” His father apologized. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“Dad, what are you talking about?” Stiles asked, voice shaking and eyes watering despite his best efforts to remain calm. “Don’t talk like that. Everything’s fine. You’re going to be fine.”

“Stiles. Listen to me.” There was a pause on the other end of the phone and Stiles knew his father was fixing Keres with his trademark, disapproving glare. “Whatever she wants.” There was another pause and Stiles could faintly hear the click of a gun being cocked over the line.

“Dad. Stop talking.” Stiles pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks at the sound.

“Don’t give it to her!” His father shouted defiantly. “Don’t you give it to her!”

A single gunshot rang through the phone, deafening and heartbreakingly final.

“NO!” Stiles screamed, his voice growing dry and raspy from the sheer volume of the cry.

“Times up.” Keres’ voice came back over the line, cold and completely unremorseful.

“Where is he?” Stiles demanded, trying to swallow through the tears but unable to with his throat so hoarse. “WHERE IS MY DAD?”

“With mine.” Keres replied icily, her voice replaced with a dial tone seconds later.

Stiles’ screams drowned out the noise, his tears flowing unrestrained down his cheeks and the dull ache of his body forgotten in the face of it all. Derek placed a light hand on Stiles’ back in comfort and Stiles jerked away from his touch, shouting the word _no_ over and over until he couldn’t form words through the hysterical crying. He stormed around the room then, throwing anything and everything he could get his hands on. There were no words, just grunts and tears and hysterical sobbing.

Eventually Stiles allowed Derek close enough to stop him, the man’s strong arms wrapping around him in a tight hug that prevented him from moving. By that time most of the clinic was in shambles, books, tools and medicines scattered in ruined heaps around the room from Stiles’ tantrum. No one said anything to reprimand him.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles stood between Scott and Derek, silent and stone-faced as he watched the three-volley salute. Every shot felt as though it were going right through him. He felt numb. All he wanted to do was cry, but after days of doing so the tears refused to come.

He knew the pack and Melissa were behind him, offering him silent support as his father was put to rest. The entire police force was there to salute him – every officer assuring him his father was the best man they’d ever met. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

His father was dead. And he was next.

The service went by in a blur. Shaking hands and receiving condolences and hollow words of support. By the end all he was left with was his father’s badge in his hands and a simple headstone beside his mother’s. He stood in front of it, reading and rereading the words carved into the stone as though his very life depended on memorizing them. The pack stood behind him in silence, waiting for him to be ready. For what he wasn’t entirely sure, but whatever it was Stiles was certain he never would be.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles spoke to the stone slab engraved with his father’s name. “I’m sorry I caused this.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was soft behind him, filled with understanding and comfort. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“He’s dead.” Stiles exhaled, the feel of the words on his tongue leaving him with a bitter, nausea inducing aftertaste. “My father is dead and Keres is gone.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” Derek offered, the words making Stiles frown.

“Don’t lie to try and make me feel better.” Stiles insisted darkly. “This happened because of me.”

There was plenty he could have done. He could have killed Keres instead of letting her go at the compound. He could have stayed with the pack instead of running off on his own. He could have paid better attention to Deaton’s tutelage. He could have listened to Derek and stayed out of the park all that time ago. He’d done none of those things, and now his father was dead.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Derek swore, absolute certainty in his voice.

Stiles said nothing, unable to argue but equally unable to accept the truth in Derek’s words.

They stood in silence for a few long moments, Stiles simply staring at the headstone in hollow mourning, before Stiles’ phone erupted through the silence of the cemetery. Stiles flinched, the piercing sound cutting through him with vivid memories of his father’s last conversation. His father’s last call.

Hesitantly, he pulled the phone slowly out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, freezing at the words that stared back at him. The phone’s bright screen read **_DAD_** in large letters, and Stiles found himself questioning if his father was really buried not a foot from where he was standing. He actually had to replay the funeral briefly in his mind before he could answer the call – just to be sure.

“Who is this?” Stiles demanded harshly to whoever was using his father’s phone.

“You have something that belongs to me.” And unfamiliar male voice replied, levelly and almost amused sounding in the face of Stiles’ hurt rage.

“How did you get that phone?” Stiles barked, furious someone dared to steal from his father before he was even cold.

“A friend gave it to me. A delightful girl with light brown hair, green eyes, and a particular hatred of you so it seems.” The man offered, his amusement never faltering.

“Keres.” Stiles growled, feeling his own anger mix with Kohl’s in a dangerous stew of murderous fury.

Stiles turned to face the pack, all too aware they could hear both sides of the conversation without using speakerphone.

“What do you want?” Stiles growled venomously.

“My eggs. Deliver them to me and I’ll make your death swift.” The voice chuckled darkly.

“And why would I do that?” Stiles returned menacingly.

“Because I have something you need. Something forged by dragons centuries ago. And something tells me you’re desperate.” The man returned.

“The relics.” Stiles growled, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

“You destroyed my outpost.” The man spoke, voice threatening yet mildly intrigued. “Now let’s see how you handle the real army.”

“I’m not giving you the eggs.” Stiles swore, hand clenching tightly against his already cracked phone – a casualty of his breakdown in the face of his father’s murder.

“In approximately two months you’ll be dead and I’ll come for them regardless.” The man chuckled. “It’s your choice. See you soon Stiles.”

With that the line went dead and Stiles was left standing in front of his father’s grave staring furiously at the rest of the pack.

“You don’t need to do this.” Derek insisted, his mouth set in a thin line of concern. “We can go retrieve the relics.”

The pack nodded determinedly, everyone clearly weary of Stiles leaving anywhere else without them. Or, at this point, with them for that matter. Stiles was pretty sure if they could confine him in the safety of the Hale house they would.

“I started this. I need to finish it.” Stiles shook his head, face set into a determined scowl as he traced his father’s badge with his thumb. “His death needs to mean something.”


	33. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so short little epilogue to wrap up part 1. I already have part 2 in the works and it should be getting posted really soon so follow me to see when that comes out! I don't want to ruin anything but part 2 is heavy road trip Stiles x Derek with more sexy times and Derek focus than part 1 so stay tuned. Also a bunch of questions are answered like why Stiles was chosen in the first place, etc.
> 
> Aside from that thanks for staying with the story till the end you all rock and don't forget to comment your thoughts!!

“Stiles please don’t do this.” Scott begged, his eyes boring into him with puppy-dog pleading.

“I have to.” Stiles insisted firmly, offering Scott a small reassuring smile.

“At least let us come with you.” Scott sighed, brows knitting together in distress.

“We’ve been over this.” Stiles shook his head with a fond grin. “Beacon Hills needs you. Besides, Derek will be with me.”

“I don’t know how to do this without you.” Scott admitted meekly, eyes darting between Stiles and Derek.

“You’ll be fine.” Derek assured him with a nod, placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder as if to reassure him as well. “Just trust the pack. They’ll need a leader like you now.”

“Some of the dragons are staying as well. You’ll have protection.” Stiles nodded firmly in supportive comfort.

“I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.” Scott whispered, just loud enough for Stiles to catch even with supernatural hearing.

Stiles sighed, pulling Scott in for a hug. The wolf sunk into his embrace, arms wrapping around him with practically no prodding. Stiles reveled in their hold, basking in the last family he had before pulling away. He couldn’t allow himself to be swayed. He needed to leave – even if meant leaving Scott behind.

“I’ll be back.” Stiles smiled.

It wasn’t really a promise he could make. He was dying. Deaton had confirmed that the deterioration of Stiles’ body meant a timeline of two months – three if he was extremely lucky – before he would be in the ground with his parents. Any hope of his survival rested with the relics. Relics that were supposedly in the hands of some demented villain bent of killing him despite the fact he was already the living embodiment of the walking dead. Still, if he was going to die he might as well avenge his father in the process.

Hence the road trip.

Stiles had actually wanted to go alone – no point in dragging anyone else to an early grave alongside him. Of course Derek wouldn’t hear of it so here they were, about to leave together. Stiles to kill Keres. Derek to try and save Stiles’ life. Frankly, with everything that had happened Stiles wasn’t entirely sure it was even possible to do so anymore.

“Promise you’ll take care of my jeep.” Stiles pleaded, earning a nod from Scott.

They were taking Derek’s car. There was no way the jeep could make it on an extended trip. Nevertheless, it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind and he hated it.

“I promise.” Scott assured him earnestly.

“Let’s go.” Stiles nodded to Derek, turning and following him to the car.

They got in and the engine roared to life. Stiles glanced at Scott out the window as they drove off, the last of his family waving a solemn goodbye to him as the car disappeared.

Neither he nor Derek knew where they were headed exactly. Chris had used his hunter contacts to garner Keres had taken a flight to Europe, but the specifics of where remained a mystery. Lydia was trying to track his dad’s stolen phone but it would take time – time Stiles didn’t have. They’d decided to take a flight to Poland. Maybe learning Stiles’ history would bring them answers. Lydia would send them a GPS location from there.

The eggs were still in their box, stored in the trunk of Derek’s car for now. They couldn’t just take them through customs, however, so Deaton had set them up with an underground flight out of the country. Stiles hadn’t bothered to ask how.

He simply hoped he lived long enough to see Keres meet her fate. The rest – survival – would simply be icing. But then Stiles always had loved icing.


End file.
